Poet's Journey
by MaternalNyx
Summary: A collection of happenings of Djarfskald, a woman stumbling into her life as Dovahkiin and the troubles of Skyrim. M for violence, language, etc. Posted in no particular order. Ralof/F!Dragonborn
1. It Begins

There was one thing and one thing alone that Djarfskald wanted: peace. After a long day's worth of traveling and out-witting bandits she needed her rest. It had been a blessing sent from the Divines when she stumbled across the small border inn. There were few patrons, a skald playing a wordless song, and a fire burning bright. All that she needed was a room for the night and belly full of warm food.

The peace that was there, though, was short lived. The hushed conversation of two men slowly grew in volume. For the most part they were ignored. Other than the innkeeper and the skald, there were only five patrons, Djarfskald included. Small spats were known to happen in tucked away places, and those spats were also known to get physical.

A chair went tumbling backwards as one of them stood, shouting about being betrayed. Despite the sound the skald's music continued to play. Djarfskald frowned and stared at her meal. She tried to focus her senses on it and it alone, but the man's voice was breaking in.

"Why don't the two of you take your argument outside?"

Neither man replied, both now standing and shouting back and forth. Djarfskald watched them from over her shoulder. She could see the larger man's body tense as he continued his accusations of treachery. The smaller of the two, while standing his ground, was obviously shaken, blue eyes wide with fear and worry. There would be little contest between them if it came down to a brawl.

It was when the larger man began to reach for something in his cloak that Djarfskald moved. She grabbed the empty tankard that was before her and rushed the larger man from behind. With one swift motion she brought it down on the back of the man's head. He crumpled to the ground with a grunt, dagger tumbling out of his hand and into the fire light.

"You, you saved my life."

Djarfskald let the tankard fall onto the unconscious man. "You're welcome but all I wanted was for the two of you to be quiet."

The blue eyes man shook his head, a smile slowly forming. "Please, let me buy you a drink; in fact, as many as you want!"

While her kneejerk response was to deny the man's offer, a warm cup of mead sounded just as good as her soup. "I suppose a drink or two wouldn't hurt."

"Now that's a true Nord speaking! Sit and let me get the first round!"

* * *

><p>The sound of unknown voices caused Djarfskald to sit upright in her bed, eyes wide and head throbbing. While her first response was to cringe and curse the Nine, she stopped while she stared down the blade of a sword. On the other end stood three men dressed in imperial armor, the one wielding the sword was the only one to wear a rather ornate helmet.<p>

"What is the meaning of this?" Her voice cracked as she spoke, despite her effort to appear so sure of what she said.

"One of my fellow generals has been brutally slain," the helmeted soldier replied. "From the accounts by the other patrons, as well as this inn's owner, you were the last one to be seen with him."

Djarfskald could feel the color drain from her face. She went through the foggy memory of the previous day but could remember nothing except arriving at the inn. "You must be mistaken. I have to work up the nerve to kill my own food, what makes you think I could kill another human?"

"From the way it's been described a discussion between the two of you turned sour and you lashed out. When he fell unconscious you simply dragged his body outside, where you took your time dismembering him. Do you deny this?"

Cradling her head in her hands Djarfskald shrugged, "I can't remember what I did last night. N-none of it."

"That is enough of an admission for now," the soldier said. He sheathed his sword and motioned to the younger of his subordinates. "Bind her."

"Wait!" Djarfskald pulled away from the men, finally realizing that she was wearing nothing but her underclothes. "At least allow me to dress. I think being dragged off by Imperials is embarrassing enough, I don't need to show myself half-naked to the world."

"Stay with her. Once she is done, bring her out."

Djarfskald felt her shoulder slump. Whatever hope she had of slipping away while they weren't looking was now gone. She watched the two soldiers leave, the younger one closing the door behind them. He watched as she slipped out from beneath the rough blankets and began to pilfer through her bags. In any other situation the young man would have been chased away and possibly attacked but this was his chance to watch a woman dress without being ashamed.

It was obvious to Djarfskald that the boy was leering and she knew it was her only chance. The window above the bed would be a quick escape but he was the only thing keeping her from fleeing. Pulling out the last of her clothes, Djarfskald tossed the articles onto the bed and slowly looked at the boy. "The post out here must be lonely."

"I-I beg your pardon?" A rosy hue was blooming in the boy's cheeks despite his stoic expression.

"I bet the female soldiers aren't that inviting either." Djarfskald ran her fingers through her dark hair, smiling slightly as she noticed the slight fracture in the boy's reserve. She wouldn't have called herself attractive, just your typical looking Nord; pale skin, shoulder length dark hair, and a muscled body from working in the wilderness of Skyrim. "You don't have any time to find a nice lady in a town, do you? Not a moment to slip away and lose yourself in someone else's warmth?"

The boy opened his mouth to respond but the training that the Imperials instilled in him must have kicked in. In a flash his eyes were looking at nothing and his face suddenly emotionless.

Djarfskald frowned slightly; she wasn't one to back down so easily, especially when her life depended on it. She crossed the room and stood close to the young soldier, close enough to feel his breath on her. "I won't say a word," she whispered. "You can do with me what you want."

The soldier's eyes suddenly locked onto Djarfskald, "We'll have to be quick about it."

Djarfskald smiled as she felt the young soldier's hands fall on her waist, letting her on hands come to rest on his shoulders. She waited until the tension left the boy's body before doing anything else. Without a word she stepped back, pulling the boy's head down into her knee. He was the one to cry out in pain as he fell to the ground, blood spilling from his nose; she missed her mark.

"Shit!"

There was no time to dress as the young soldier shouted for his superior. Djarfskald grabbed her cloak, wrapping it around herself as she threw open the window. The room was on the inn's second floor and while she hesitated at the idea from jumping down, her instincts told her to run. She leapt as far from the building as she could, landing hard on what had looked like soft earth. There was no time to nurse her wounds as she heard the soldiers and soon saw the ornate, helmeted head of the unnamed general.

Scrambling to her feet Djarfskald ran. She didn't know where she was going but it was away from that inn. The shouts from the soldiers were barely audible over her hurried breathing and the wind rushing around her. Rocks and roots bit at her feet and branches tore at her hair and cloak. There was no way she could stop. Djarfskald was not only wanted for assaulting an Imperial soldier but for murdering one of their generals.

Time and distance meant nothing. The forests looked and sounded the same as Djarfskald continued. Her body was screaming for her to stop but she could still hear the voices of the soldiers. They were on horseback now, no doubt an attempt to shorten the chasse. Djarfskald knew she was fending off the inevitable but she kept pushing herself.

"I think I hear something."

That voice. . . .That wasn't the sound of the Imperial soldiers behind her.

Djarfskald pushed forward, "Someone! Please help!"

"It could be a trap."

"Whoever it is sounds desperate."

The voices were getting closer but Djarfskald could still hear the sound of horses behind her.

"She's making enough noise to wake all of Tamriel. The Jarl wants us to find her."

Shadows from the tree line ahead seemed to morph into human form. Fear gripped her for a moment but as the armor became more visible that fear melted away. She recognized the figures draped in blue; they were fellow Nords willing to help their brothers and sisters in need. One hurried towards her, saying something that was lost in the wind. The soldier grabbed for their weapon and before fear could grip her, the world around Djarfskald went black as pain blossomed from the back of her skull.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: I obviously have taken some liberty in this little bit, but I think it's worth it. Just my take on my character's reason for being put up on the chopping block. Also thought a definition of her name might be in order:<em>

_Djarfskald: Taken from djarfr (bold) and skald (poet)_

_Enjoy!_


	2. Here There Be Dragons

_Author's Notes: Okay...Obligatory opening sequence! Then there will be some jumping around of the timeline and more artistic license abuse. Who knows. Spoiler alerts will be given if they are needed. Thanks for reading!_

* * *

><p>Pain; it was all Djarfskald could notice. Pain radiated from her head and wrists, pulsating through her body. She forced her eyes open, groaning at the sudden glare of light. The first thing she noticed was that her hands were painfully bound; the second was that she was clothed. Djarfskald could only surmise that the Imperials had managed to catch up with her at the last moment, striking her down within arm's reach of help.<p>

"Hey, you!" Djarfskald raised her head, finally realizing that not only was she being rocked back and forth by the movement of a cart but she wasn't alone. A blonde, bearded Nord sat across from her, dressed in the armor of the Stormcloaks. He smiled slightly, blue eyes still vivid despite their current state. "Finally awake!"

Djarfskald cracked a smile, "Unfortunately."

The man chuckled, tugging at his bindings. "You tried to cross the border? Walked right into an Imperial ambush. Same as us and that thief over there."

"Damn you, Stormcloaks." Those words were full of venom. Djarfskald watched as the dark haired man suddenly spat on the blonde, anger burning wildly in his eyes. "Skyrim was fine before you came along. The Empire was nice and lazy, and if they hadn't been looking for you I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell."

The Nord shook his head, wiping his face with the back of his hand, "We're all brothers in binds now, thief."

"Shut up back there."

Silence fell for only a moment as Djarfskald looked at her companions. It was the man beside her that seemed rather out of place. The clothes he wore were different from the Stormcloaks and while he was bound like everyone else, the man was also gagged. The thief was eying the man too but the scrutiny wasn't one of curiosity but one of anger.

"What's the matter with him," the thief asked, kicking the space between the man and Djarfskald.

The blonde grabbed the thief, wrenching the man closer to him, "Watch your tongue. You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King."

"The Jarl of Windhelm," Djarfskald shifted slightly in her seat to get a better look at Ulfric. "You're the leader of the rebellion!" There was a shift of emotion in the Jarl's eyes but nothing else changed about the man.

"But if they captured you…" The thief was released with a grunt, eyes wide as he looked at the world around them, "Oh gods, where are they taking us?"

The man across from Djarfskald hung his head, once more tugging at his bindings. "I don't know where we're going but Sovngarde awaits."

Those words echoed in Djarfskald's mind and she looked down at her hands. She studied the bindings for a moment but knew there was no use in trying to escape. There were too many Imperials around and she would be shot the moment she left the carriage. Nothing mattered at that moment; not the conversation between those in the cart or her revenge against whom ever set her up. All the hopes that Djarfskald had were now gone. Dreams of going to the bard's college or even buying her own farm were pointless in those moments. All of it was at an end.

"Girl, where are you from?"

Djarfskald glanced up. Despite their inevitable ends the man bore a smile. "My family owns a farm not too far from Whiterun."

The carts came to a slow halt.

"Why are we stopping?" the thief stammered.

Ralof sighed, "Why do you think? End of the line."

Djarfskald had barely noticed the town they were in, the walls rising high with towers looming over them. She spied the hooded man chosen to take their lives, built like a mountain and appearing even more foreboding standing beside a thin priestess. The moment to inquire about their whereabouts had passed, the others were slowly standing and leaving the carts.

"Let's go," Ralof said with wry smile as he caught Djarfskald's attention. "Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us."

The thief paused for a moment, attempting to catch the attention of the soldiers, "No wait! We're not rebels."

Ralof hit the man in the back with his bound hands, "Face your death with some courage!"

The man wheeled around, "You've got to tell them! The girl and I, we weren't with you. It's a mistake!"

Guards stood around them in a large circle, weapons at hand and faces set with grim expressions. Djarfskald found herself sidling up to the blonde Nord that had been talking to her in the cart. She knew nothing about the man but he seemed calm in the midst of everything.

A woman looked them over before nodding at her companion, "Step forward as we call your name; one at a time."

The man chuckled softly, "The Empire loves their damn lists."

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm."

"Ralof of Riverwood."

Djarfskald watched as the Nord left her side and once more she felt fear inch its way into her mind. She felt numb as she watched the thief step forward after his name was called only to try and run away. It was only a moment before the archers had their arrows sailing through the air, hitting their mark with ease. The thief let out a grunt as he fell to the ground, eyes wide and looking skyward; there was no movement to check him and there was little doubt of the need to.

"You!" Djarfskald's attention snapped back to the man before her, his fingers trailing over the list. "Who are you?"

"I am Djarfskald of Whiterun."

"You picked a bad time to return to Skyrim." Djarfskald had the urge to correct the man; she had never left Skyrim. The man pursed his lips as he looked through the names, "Captain, she's not on the list. What should we do?"

The woman frowned, "Forget the damn list. She goes to the block."

"By your orders, Captain." The armored Nord turned his attention back to Djarfskald, "I'm sorry but at least you'll die here in your homeland. Follow the Captain, prisoner."

Djarfskald made her way towards the group of prisoners, realizing that she was the only one wasn't wearing Stormcloak armor. She stood beside Ralof once more, the man glancing at her with a sad smile. All attention was on Ulfric, who stood before them all, being belittled by a well armored man.

"Who is that," Djarfskald whispered.

Ralof cocked an eyebrow in surprise, "General Tullius, Skyrim's military governor."

A strange call, sounding like the cry of a distant animal, seemed to echo eerily through the air, causing silence to fall amongst the town.

A lone soldier spoke what was on everyone's mind, "What was that?"

"It's nothing," General Tullius spat. "Carry on."

Djarfskald kept looked around, eyes finding shadows where they weren't. She ignored the priestess as she spoke only turning her attention back to what was before her as a Stormcloak moved forward. The man faced his death with a smile, his anger towards the Imperials spilling forth moments before the axe came down.

One of the women amongst the Stormcloaks cried out in anger, her voice mirrored by those of the Imperial soldiers.

"As fearless in death as he was in life," Ralof said solemnly.

The captain walked forwards, kicking the headless body aside before looking over the remaining prisoner. She locked eyes with Djarfskald for a moment and pointed, "The Nord in rags." Another cry caught on the wind caused her stop midstep.

"There it is again."

"Move prisoner."

With a deep breath Djarfskald stepped forward. She had no reason to be there. She wasn't part of the uprising. It was all a matter of chance. Djarfskald slipped to her knees and looked at the head lying in the basket. Had it not been for the guard pushing her down against the block she knew she wouldn't have been able to move. What disturbed her more then head beneath her was the warm blood that made the block slick.

Looking past the executioner Djarfskald studied the bright sky. She always thought that cloudy skies foretold death. A dark form floated high over head, wings spread wide as it coasted along. A new fear gripped her stomach as the strange cry ripped through the air once more; that was no bird. She watched that form grow closer, larger as the hooded man as he raised his halberd over head, the words of the Imperials around her lost in the confusion of her own mind. The creature landed on the tower, its very weight seeming to cause the world to shudder and sending the executioner falling. For a moment the world around Djarfskald seemed to grow still as the beast looked around from its perch.

"Dragon!"

Opening its maw the creature let out a roar that shook Djarfskald to the core. She pushed herself to her feet only to hear, and feel, the cry from the creature once more. Chaos was reigning around her as her vision cleared. The walls around her were shattered, fire burning as guards, townsfolk, and prisoner alike ran for safety.

"Djarfskald, get up!" Hearing her name shouted amongst the chaos, Djarfskald found Ralof taking hold of her arm. "The gods won't give us another chance. This way!"

The two raced across the destroyed courtyard, dashing into the open door of tower. Djarfskald pulled away from Ralof as the door was shut behind them. Stormcloaks were taking hold in the small room, tending to their wounds. Their eyes, though, were all focused on Ulfric as he ripped off his gag.

"Jarl Ulfric, what is that thing?" Ralof asked, a tinge of fear present even in his voice. "Could the legends be true?"

"Legends don't burn down villages." Ulfric ran a hand through his hair, seeming to collect himself as he looked at his soldiers and then around the room. "We need to move now!"

"Up through the tower," Ralof replied. Once more he reached for Djarfskald, pulling her ahead of the others. "This way, my friend!"

Djarfskald pulled her arm out of the man's grasp and hurried up the stone stairs. She could hear the dragon's cries from outside and the urgency of Ralof's voice behind her. The wall on her right suddenly flew inward, the pained shouts of the Stormcloaks overshadowed by the dragon's voice. Fire burst from the creature's open mouth, the wave of heat knocking Djarfskald backwards. As suddenly as the dragon had appeared it was now gone.

Ralof steadied her as he peered through the hole in the wall. "See the inn on the other side? I want you to jump through the roof and keep going."

The idea of jumping from building to building didn't sit well with Djarfskald, more so as her thoughts lingered on her poor escape from the Imperials. "What about you and the Jarl?"

"We'll follow when we can. Now go!"

There was little time to prepare as Ralof seemed to push Djarfskald. It felt more like she fell through the ruined inn, tumbling to the ground. She looked over her shoulder; Ralof was no longer in view. The cry of dragon brought a sense of urgency to the forefront of her mind and Djarfskald soon found herself stumbling into the decimated streets.

"Still alive, prisoner?"

Djarfskald spun around, coming face to face with the man who had called out the names of the prisoners. He moved infront of her, staring down the street as the dragon landed before a troop of soldiers. "Keep close to me if you want to stay that way." He glanced at his companions, a fellow soldier and a young boy. "Gunnar, take care of the boy. I have to find General Tullius and join the defense."

"Gods guide you, Hadvar."

The soldier moved quickly, giving Djarfskald little warning as he ran through the streets. Hadvar slowed his pace as he turned towards an ally. "Stay close to the wall." Once more he picked up his pace but this time Djarfskald matched it. She hugged the wall, eyes on the man's belt; he had an unguarded dagger. She reached for it fingers so close before Hadvar dove to the side, the wing of the dragon suddenly slamming between them.

"Yol. . . Toor. . . Shul!"

Djarfskald heard words in the midst of the scream and the rush of flame from the dragon's mouth. There was no time to wonder if it was all in her mind as the Imperial soldier dashed down another street. While there were fellow Imperial soldiers around them, some wounded and others with their weapons drawn and eyes skyward, Hadvar did not stop. A man shouted that they were to retreat but those words seemed to fall on deaf ears.

"Ralof!" That name seemed to drip with venom as Hadvar shouted it. Djarfskald felt relieved to see the man unharmed and in on piece. "You damned traitor! Out of my way."

"We're escaping, Hadvar, and you're not stopping us this time."

The dragon flew low over head, its call thundering in the sky.

Hadvar frowned, "Fine! I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde. With me, prisoner!"

"Djarfskald, come on! Into the keep."

There was no point in weighing the options. Ralof had been kind to her from the moment she woke while Hadvar was to be a hand in her execution. She followed the blonde Nord into the keep, closing the door the best she could behind them. The sound of the dragon's cries still pierced her mind as she backed away with a pounding heart.

"Looks like we're the only ones to make it."

"What," Djarfskald exclaimed.

Ralof didn't seem to hear her, his eyes set on the motionless body that he crouched before. "That thing was a dragon," he murmured. "Just like the children's stories and the legends. The harbingers of the End Times." Ralof fell silent as he stood. With a sigh he lifted his head and looked at Djarfskald, "We better get moving. Let me see if I can take those bindings off of you."

It was the first time since they were in the carriage that Djarfskald realized the bindings were there. The rush of fleeing had numbed her body from the pain. Ralof produced a dagger, cutting through the rope with ease. He smiled slightly, "Better? You may as well take Gunjar's gear; he won't be needing them anymore."

Djarfskald knelt beside the fallen warrior. What nerves should have been present about taking items from a dead body weren't present. It wasn't something she was happy to admit but this wasn't the first time she had done such a thing. The boot and weapon were easily removed but she found moving the dead weight of the man's body difficult to work with while relieving him of his armor. Ralof took his time examining the room for a way out, giving her the courtesy of changing without feeling spied upon.

"Both gates are locked," Ralof explained. "And the only way to open that gate is from the other side."

Moving closer to the bars Djarfskald peered through. Shadows moved across the floor of the long hall before two shadowed figures appeared. "It's the Imperials," she whispered.

"Take cover."

Djarfskald mimicked Ralof, taking her position on the opposite side of the closed gate. Her fingers ached as she gripped the handle of the axe. It had been too long since she held such a weapon and she longed for the bow that was now lost. She held her breath as the gate rattled open, the female soldier from earlier barking orders at her underling.

It was the shine of the torch light on the helmet that made her move. With a war cry Djarfskald swung the axe with all her strength, the blade lodging itself in the soldier's neck. The man's sword, once in hand, clattered to the ground as he made a vain attempt to speak. She could feel the warm spray of blood coursing over her fingers as the man lurched forward. Despite her momentary spurt of speed she was unable to move away, being caught by the soldier as he fell.

"Die!"

Djarfskald readied herself for the stinging bite of the woman's blade but the soldier's war cry morphed into wet sputter. She looked up to see the woman ran through with an Imperial sword. The soldier's eyes were wide as she stared at the blade, her hands almost pawing at the object jutting through her chest.

Ralof grunted as he pulled the sword free of the woman, sending her tumbling to the ground beside her comrade. He tossed the sword aside, "Maybe one of them have the key."

"Well, there is no doubt now," Djarfskald sighed as she began to search the woman's body, "I am truly wanted for murder."

"Murder?"

Djarfskald smiled and held up a ring of keys, "If we make it out of here alive, Ralof of Riverwood, I might be inclined to tell you."


	3. Until We Meet Again

Riverwood was a quiet town, a place not too far from Whiterun. Djarfskald had followed Ralof when they finally escaped the terrors of Helgen. He suggested they go their separate ways, that it would be harder for someone to track them. Despite her time fending for herself in the wilds, Djarfskald felt frightened and at odds with the world. She had no gear save for the axe and armor she had taken from the dead Stormcloak. It didn't take much for Ralof to agree to lead her to Riverwood and even less to say that she had a place to stay without pay.

Two days had passed since their escape. They were both battered and bruised from the Imperials and the destruction the dragon had caused. Djarfskald was relieved to receive such a warm welcome the small town's leader and Ralof's sister, Gerdur. Despite being a stranger to her, the woman opened her home for as long as she needed.

"So, you feel well enough to travel?"

Djarfskald looked up from the fire, giving Ralof a slight smile, "I should ask you the same. It seems like you and Hod are comfortable spending most of the afternoon drinking mead."

"True enough," Ralof chuckled as he took a seat opposite of his new found companion. He looked at the fire, leaning forwards to warm his hands. "I have a question, friend. You said that if we escaped Helgen alive that you would be willing to explain this murder business. Are you going to keep that agreement?"

"Oh! I, uh, just-"

Ralof glanced at Djarfskald, "I have always made it a point to protect my sister. If you are dangerous I am willing to let you leave rather than strike you down here."

Djarfskald stared at the man with wide eyes before taking in a deep breath. "I was accused of murdering some Imperial general the night before I was captured. The only thing I remember, now anyway, is knocking the man out for going after someone with a knife. The next morning I woke to three Imperial soldiers over my bed at an inn, swords out. I had to think quickly to escape the room."

"And how did you escape three armed soldiers? Capable as you are, even some of the Stormcloaks would be at a disadvantage in such a situation."

"The younger soldier out of the three was to make sure I didn't escape while I dressed," Djarfskald explained, feeling the heat of embarrassment rising in her face. "Needless to say I used myself as a distraction."

Ralof smiled, "You used yourself? You mean. . . ."

"I told him that he could do what he wanted with me. When he let his guard down I tried to knock him out but managed to break his nose before wrapping myself up and jumping out the window." Djarfskald hung her head, knowing that she had to come clean. "I ran through the woods and came across your group. I'm sorry, Ralof, but I think I lead the Imperials to you and Jarl Ulfric."

Silence settled between the two as a look of shock worked its way across Ralof's face. "You were the voice in the woods?"

Djarfskald nodded, "They were going to kill me. I recognized the Stormcloak armor and thought you would be able to help but I didn't know where we were. If I would have known that we were so close to the border I-"

Ralof raised his hand, silencing the young woman with the motion. His attention turned to the fire once more. "We knew there was a chance the Imperials were around the border but we had to cross it. The amount of soldiers that showed up seemed like too many to chase a lone woman; they just seized the opportunity."

"I still feel like I led them to you."

"So, you didn't murder this general?"

"Gods no! That man who took the ax to the neck was my first Imperial death. It seemed that if I was going to be executed for killing one of them, I might as well do so."

A soft smile crossed Rolaf's face as he stood, "I am glad to know that you can be trusted." He paused at Djarfskald's side and rested a hand on her shoulder, noticing the slight tension in her body at the touch. She looked up at him and smiled faintly. "How did you receive those scars," he asked, brushing his fingers across the marks on her left cheek. "Not the Imperials I hope."

Djarfskald shook her head, "A hunting accident as a child. A wolf took a swipe at me. If my father hadn't been there, then I would have received more than this scar if I had made it out alive."

"That would have been a shame." Ralof let his hand remain on the woman's shoulder a moment longer. "I am going to see if Hod needs help at the mill. Do you want to join us?"

"No. I think I'll go to the inn and see if Sven is around for some entertainment." 

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><p>Ralof hadn't seen Djarfskald since their talk earlier that day and he found himself worrying about the woman when they began to eat. It didn't take long, though, before she slipped through the door without a word and joined them at the table, sitting beside Frodnar with a smile. Ralof could smell the mead on her breath but Djarfskald looked far from drunk.<p>

Gerdur was the one to break the silence as she set a plate before the dark haired woman, "I was starting to worry you had disappeared."

"I lost track of time," Djarfskald replied. "I talked to Sven for too long on the subject of the bard's college."

"That boy won't shut up if he knows there is someone there to listen," Hod added with a snort.

Ralof chuckled, "You're too hard on the boy. He has a storyteller's heart, nothing more."

Gerdur took a seat beside Djarfskald, "You have interest in becoming a bard?"

"It always interested me as a child, no younger than Frodnar, but I'm not sure what to do now." Djarfskald stared at the food before her, seeming to think whether or not food was appealing. "I wanted to tell you all that I will be leaving tomorrow."

Ralof paused, his tankard halfway to his mouth as he stared at the woman, "Leaving?"

Djarfskald nodded as she finally began to eat her own meal. "I don't wish to impose on you, Gerdur, and the last thing I want is for Ralof to be away from his own family."

Laughter suddenly erupted from Hod. "A family? What lies have you been telling her, Ralof?"

"I just assumed he had a wife," Djarfskald stammered, looking between Hod and Ralof who seemed to be shocked in his own respect.

"No wife but the man has known many a woman," Hod replied, elbowing his brother-in-law.

Gerdur frowned, "Enough, Hod. My brother has had little time to find himself a wife. He's been so focused on his time with the Stormcloaks that everything else has fallen to the wayside."

"Enough talk about my personal life," Ralof interjected. "Let's just finish our meal so Djarfskald can rest for the night."

The silence that fell over the foursome didn't last long. Slowly stories of dragons began to flow with the child's pestering and while Djarfskald could still that haunting voice in her mind she recalled the stories from her own childhood. Hod asked for details on their escape, the way they made it past the dragon. Once more it was Djarfskald who provided the more interesting stories, recanting the feel of the heat of fire as it spewed from the monster's maw and the sight of the massive wing that slammed down beside her.

As the night wore on Djarfskald found herself sitting on the floor, once more before the fire with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Hod and Gerdur excused themselves as they retired to their bed, pulling Frodnar along under the presumption the adults wishes to be alone. Ralof still sat at the table, his chin resting on his fists as he seemed to lose himself in his thoughts.

"So," Ralof said softly, "you thought I was married?"

Djarfskald glanced over her shoulder; he wasn't looking at her directly. "I only assumed. You seemed like a man who would've already been taken. Any woman would be proud to be yours, more so with you standing amongst the ranks of Stormcloaks." She could see the barest hint of a smile play on his lips and the unmistaken blush of embarrassment. It seemed he was unaccustomed to compliments.

Clearing his throat Ralof finally looked at his companion , "What about you? Are you married?"

"Gods, no," Djarfskald laughed. "No fool in their right mind has ever thought of taking me. No one has ever attempted. I mean, it's not like I haven't thought about it, it's just that not many men want a wife that has wanderlust. Even as a child I would disappear for hours and, eventually, days before coming home. I think that's the reason why my father taught me how to hunt."

The smile on Ralof's face became more pronounced. "You are a fine Nord woman, Djarfskald, and you would make a fine wife."

Djarfskald mirrored her companion's smile, "You're too kind. It looks like I may have to stop my travels any way."

Ralof left the table, taking a seat beside Djarfskald on the floor, "And why would that be?"

"With the battle between the Imperials and Stormcloaks getting worse, not to mention dragons wandering the wilderness, it might not be nearly as simple as it had been."

"Shame," Ralof said softly. "It would have been nice to run into you again."

Djarfskald lowered her head, the smile still wide on her face. "Skyrim is a large country, Ralof, there would be no promise in running into each other."

"It's a sad thought, but you can't blame a man for hoping."

"Perhaps we can arrange. . ." Djarfskald's voice trailed off as she felt Ralof take her hand. She looked at him, feeling herself blush as the blonde Nord met her gaze. "Ralof?"

"If you ever make your way to Windhelm, search for me. A smiling face is a welcome sight these days and I can promise you a place to stay."

All Djarfskald could manage to do was nod in response, her face growing warmer as Ralof kissed her hand softly. He said nothing else as he made his way to his bed for the night. Djarfskald didn't move, just stared after the man for what seemed like hours. That whole moment made little sense in her mind. She had shrugged off her initial interest in Ralof and deemed it nothing more than a child's crush on the man who saved her life. This, though, was a sign of something else; he felt something too.

Djarfskald cradled her head in her hands, "Mara guide me."


	4. Family Matters

The world seemed blurry as Djarfskald woke, her head throbbing as she forced herself to sit. She blinked a few times as her eyes focused. This wasn't Breezehome, she could tell that much even through her blurred vision. What was supposed to be a well furnished room brightened by the morning soon was dank and smelt of mold. Panic grew within her mind as her eyes settled on a form dressed in darkness resting complacently on an armoire that had seen better days.

"Sleep well?" The voice was calm and sultry, very much that of a woman.

"Where am I?" Djarfskald slowly stood, her hand tightening around the hilt of her dagger giving little comfort. "Who are you?"

Those eyes, the only thing significant on that masked face, flashed the smile that the woman must have wore. "Does it matter," she purred. "You're warm, dry, . . . and very much alive. That's more than can be said for old Grelod."

Djarfskald could feel the color drain from her face. "Y-You know about that?"

The stranger's foot swayed lazily as her fingers ran across the aged beams of the rafters above her. "Half of Skyrim knows. Old hag gets butchered in her own orphanage? Things like that get around." She chuckled, the joy in her voice and eyes seeming more ever more prevalent. "Don't misunderstand; I'm not criticizing! It was a good kill. Old crone had it coming and you saved a bunch of urchins, to boot. But there is a slight problem."

"Problem?" Djarfskald had to agree with that sentiment. She wanted out of where ever she was but there was no comfortable moment to take a look around. This woman was an unknown element and so was this building. Was she someone sent to kill her? How could that old hag have such connections?

"Grelod the Kind was, by all rights, a Dark Brotherhood contract," the woman explained. "A kill that you stole. A kill you must repay."

Despite it all Djarfskald felt her body relax; she wasn't in immediate danger. It had been a spur of the moment decision when she met the boy. He acted like his wish had been granted, that with her arrival the world was being set right. While she knew she should have turned away and left it well enough alone, he begged for retribution. Djarfskald knew her own skill and had assumed that, while the body would be found, she would escape with little notice.

"You want me to murder someone else? Who is it?"

The woman chuckled, "Funny you should ask. If you turn around you'll notice my guests. I've 'collected' them from. . . . well that's not really important. The here and now; that's what matters." She rested her head on the wall behind her, eyes focused on the people Djarfskald had been unaware about. "You see, there's a contract out on one of them and that person can't leave this place alive. But, which one? Go on and see if you can figure it out."

Djarfskald slowly approached the three kneeling figures. Bags had been tied around their heads, their hands bound tightly behind their backs. "Make your choice. Make your kill," the woman said softly. "I just want to observe and admire."

"All right, I'll do it," Djarfskald replied, licking her lips. "I'll kill one of them."

"I knew we could resolve this civilly. A debt owed must be repaid. You understand that. Get to it. Pick your guest and send the poor fool to the Void. I'll give you the key to this shack, and you'll be on your way."

That was what Djarfskald wanted to hear. She pulled out her dagger and surveyed the odd trio. A woman; a mother by the looks of it. Her clothes were dirtied by little hands and she seemed unkempt but proud in a way a mother always appeared to be. The man beside her, while wearing battle worn armor, was shaken. His arms shook, not in an effort to escape, but in fear of what was going on around him. The third was a Khajiit who seemed rather at ease compared to his companions. She moved towards him.

"Whoever this is," the Khajiit snickered, "clearly we got off on the wrong foot. Ah, but nor worries. This is not the first time I've been bagged and dragged."

Position herself before the Khajiit, Djarfskald brought her dagger down on their neck. The creature let out a gurgled cry of surprise as blood blossomed across the face of the bag. She turned and glanced at the woman; she was watching her with such an intensity that little else seemed to capture her attention.

"I did what you asked," Djarfskald said. There was doubt in her mind and while in most situations she would dwell on it, she wanted out. She tried not to let that concern play across her face.

"The conniving Khajiit," the woman said in a sing-song voice. "Cat like that was sure to have enemies. It's no wonder you chose him."

Djarfskald gripped the hilt of her weapon, "You told me to kill, and I killed."

"Indeed!" The woman slipped off the armoire with ease, landing with little sound. "For you, my friend, seem to understand what's truly important. When I give an order to spill blood, you follow it. No questions, no remorse."

"So I'm free to go?"

That unseen smile flashed in the woman's eyes, "Of course! And you've repaid your debt, in full. Here's the key to the shack."

Djarfskald took the item without a word and hurried towards the door. She didn't want to remain in that building for a moment longer.

"But why stop here? I say we take our relationship to the next level."

"What 'next level'?" Djarfskald could feel the woman's presence close behind her.

"I would like to officially extend to you an invitation to join my Family. The Dark Brotherhood." She didn't move from behind Djarfskald, didn't make any move to touch her or force her out of the shack. "In the southwest reaches of Skyrim," she whispered, "in the Pine Forest, you'll find the entrance to our Sanctuary. It's just beneath the road, hidden from view. When questioned by the Black Door, answer with the correct passphrase, 'Silence, my brother.' Then you're in and your new life begins."

Djarfskald said nothing else as she unlocked the door and slipped into the damp morning. The door closed behind her, the stranger locking it. Then there was silence. Djarfskald looked down at the key in her hand before slipping it into her pocket. So many questions ran through her mind but she was grateful to have her life. There was one thing she had to do, something she had promised to do if she ever entered Windhelm.

The Dark Brotherhood would have to wait.


	5. Going for The Throat

A horse; Djarfskald would have given anything to have one at that moment. Seven thousand steps to High Hrothgar for a meeting that may mean nothing. To meet men that refuse to speak anything but the Dragon Tongue. She knew about them through passing, heard stories when she was young, and knew people who wanted to make the very trek she was making.

Djarfskald wrapped her cloak tightly around her. It was doing little against the whipping wind. While the sun was a welcome sight, the clouds would have kept the heat of the world closer. All she could do was keep moving. If she stopped, even for a moment to ease her aching body, the cold could overwhelm her. She had to focus on walking and her memories to keep her moving forward.

_There __was__ a __dragon__ sighting. __Jarl__ Balgru f__requested__ Djarfskald__ join__ his__ guards __and__ Irileth,__ his__ Dunmer __housecarl,__ in__ defeating__ the__ beast.__ There__ was __little __she__ could __do __but __accept __the __Jarl__'__s __request. __She __had __escaped __a__ dragon__ before __and, __for__ some __reason, __it __seemed __all __the __more __reason __for __her __to__ be __there._

_ The watchtower had been destroyed much like the towers of Helgen. Bodies burnt to cinders were scatter amongst the debris and the stench was something Djarfskald wished she could forget. They spread out on Irileth's request. Djarfskald took it upon herself to ascend the broken tower, bow in hand as she surveyed the area. The breeze was warm and there was nothing to see except the lazy turning of the windmills._

_ A familiar cry echoed through the air and Djarfskald turned her eyes higher. The black shadow of the dragon swooped by her, its maw opening as it released a flash of fire at the guards below. She knocked back an arrow and released it. The dragon took little notice as it pushed its body skyward once more. More arrows were released, her own amongst the volley, until the creature seemed quilled._

_ The dragon fell to the ground, leaving a trench within the earth. It righted itself, turning to face Djarfskald and the Whiterun guards. She heard those words again, alien to her ears, and found herself being pushed to the ground. More arrows were released; no one wanted to get closer to the beast. There was little choice, though. Their arrows seemed to do little against the thick scales._

_ Djarfskald felt a mix of heat of fire and the cold bite of ice as she raced towards the creature. As shocking as it was, a Nord using magic, she had little time to look to see who was casting. She launched herself into the air, weapon arching over head in a quick downswing. Her weapon struck true and the dragon roared in surprised pain. Djarfskald climbed onto the creature's back, racking her ax against it with every step until she got the beast's neck. It bucked against her and the strikes of magic. With a war cry she sunk the ax into the dragon's skull, her arms aching against the blow._

_ "Dovahkiin! No!" Those words escaped the dragon as its dying cry, but as Djarfskald looked at the other it seemed they hadn't heard it. She felt the body go limp beneath her and as she placed her palm against the scaled skin she felt a jolt fly through her body. It happened slowly but the dragon's skin seemed to crack like glass before blowing away from its body like burning paper. Whispered words, sounding like thousands of voices in her ears, rushed around her in a blaze of light. Then there was nothing._

_ "Did you see that?"_

_ "Could the tales be true. . . ."_

_ "She is Dragonborn."_

_ That word spread amongst the handful of guards like wildfire as Djarfskald made her way to the Irileth. The Dunmer looked her over. "That was the hairiest fight I've ever been in, and I've been in more than a few." She looked at the guards as the huddled together, whispering and eying Djarfskald. A frown passed over her dark face, "I don't know about this 'Dragonborn' business, but I'm sure glad you're with us."_

_ "I can't believe it," a guard stammered, stepping away from his comrades. "You're. . . Dragonborn."_

_ Djarfskald shifted uneasily; that word, it sounded familiar but it seemed like a vague memory. "Dragonborn? What do you mean?"_

_ "In the very oldest tales, back when there were still dragons in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would slay and steal their powers," the man explained_

_ "That's what you did, isn't it," another guard exclaimed. "Absorbed the dragon's power?"_

_ Djarfskald looked down at her hands. They were caked with ash and blood, her own mingled with that of the dragon. Even the blade of her ax was dirtied by it. Despite it all she felt no different. "I don't know what happened to me. I suppose I may have."_

_ "There's one way to find out," the first guard replied. "Try to Shout. According to the old legends, only the Dragonborn can Shout without training, the way dragons do."_

_ The guards began to talk amongst themselves again, arguing over the tale of the Dragonborn. They dragged the Dunmer into their debate but those words were lost to Djarfskald. She turned away from them and looked out across the fields. There was no harm in attempting to Shout. If was Dragonborn this would be proof enough, if not she would be no different._

_ Djarfskald took in a deep breath and closed her eyes, her mind searching for something. "Fus!" Her voice echoed across the landscape, the grass bending against the sound. The chattering behind her was silenced just as easily. She turned to them and looked at the guards with wide eyes, an expression they mirrored._

_ "Th-that was Shouting, what you just did!" a guard cried. "You really are Dragonborn."_

_ Irileth shook her head, the shocked expression disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. "I need to head back to Dragonsreach and inform the Jarl of what we've done."_

_ Djarfskald ran as fast as she could towards the walls of Whiterun after giving the Dunmer a quick nod. It seemed like the sooner she reached the safety of the city all of this would disappear. As she reached those sturdy walls she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end._

_ "DOVAHKIIN! That voice boomed across the Hold, shaking the very earth itself. Djarfskald spun around, expecting another dragon to be within sight. The only thing she saw was The Throat of the World._

The sight of the stone walls and snow covered towers were a welcome sight. Djarfskald pushed her body up the steps, eyes trained on the large stone doors. There was no way of knowing what was on the other side but she needed to get out of the wind and snow. She used her remaining strength to push those stone doors and stumble inside. The wind pushed her further into the dimly lit building, fires burning in braziers along the wall.

Slowly Djarfskald wandered further into the chilled building. Other than the crackling of fire and the howling wind, it was silent. A room opened up before her a large stone in the center of it all. She looked it over, trying to spy something odd about the item and why it was there.

"So, a Dragonborn appears at this moment in the turning of the age."

Djarfskald muffled a startled cry as she whipped around. Descending a short flight of stairs was a man dressed in a hooded robe. "I. . . I'm answering your summons," she stammered.

"We will see if you truly have the gift." A slight smile crossed the man's face as Djarfskald lowered the hood of her cloak. "Show us, Dragonborn. Let us taste of your voice."

* * *

><p>"Miss?"<p>

Djarfskald jolted upright, eyes wide as the dreams of High Hrothgar wavered in her mind. The wagon had stopped and the driver was looking at her, seeming to be startled himself. "Sorry. I guess I dozed off. What is it?"

"We've arrived," the man replied, motioning to the walls of Windhelm.


	6. Warmth of Another

Djarfskald slipped into Windhelm with little notice. It was snowing harder than what she expected but her cloak seemed to be enough to keep out the biting wind. Despite the heavy snowfall the Stormcloaks stood guard and the citizens went about their afternoon chores. She looked for a familiar sign, one that would bring much relief. Candlehearth Hall, the city's proud inn.

Even in the early evening hours the inn was filled with noise and merrymaking. Djarfskald lowered the cloak's hood and felt a wave of warmth rush around her. She could see the shadow of movement from the inn's upper level where the activity seemed to be. The sound of a singing voice drifted amongst the laughs and storytelling.

A small group of Stormcloak soldiers stood around the bar, talking to each other and the woman who seemed to be in charge. Nervously Djarfskald approached them, tapping one of the men on the shoulder. "Excuse me."

The soldier glanced at Djarfskald, eyebrow raised as he studied her. "Was there something I could help you with?"

Djarfskald nodded, "Do you know a man named Ralof?"

"Yeah," the soldier replied, turning to face her. "What's this about?"

"Can you find him, and tell him a friend from Riverwood is here to see him?"

One of the soldier's companion paused in their own conversation, "Riverwood? That's the captain's home town, Aughrim! We better get moving anyway."

Djarfskald had little time to say much else as the group moved around her, disappearing out the door. She turned her attention to the blonde woman behind the bar, who flashed a wary smile before beginning to collect the tankards the soldiers left. "Is there a room available?"

Once more the smile flashed across the woman's face, this time seeming more genuine. "There is! Ten gold includes room along with an evening and morning meal."

"Sounds fair enough," Djarfskald smiled as she placed the coin on the counter.

"It will be a moment for me to prepare the room. If you'd like you can find a place by the fire and warm yourself."

Djarfskald ascended the stairs after the woman took the money. The chatter of other guests grew louder and the music still hung low amongst the sound. An empty chair was beside the fire, a welcome sight amidst the crowd. She claimed it with ease. Her traveling bag sat at her feet while she basked in the fire light like a cat, cloak still wrapped around her. Whatever snow that had remained on her was now a memory as her toes and fingers regained their sensation.

Thoughts of High Hrothgar pulled on Djarfskald's mind. She had been sent out to retrieve something, something that would prove she was Dovahkiin. That was on hold for the time being. With all these things happening in the world around her all Djarfskald wanted was a familiar face. Some sort of normalcy would be a welcome change.

"There she is, captain!"

Even amongst the noise of merrymaking and her own thoughts Djarfskald heard those words as if the person stood beside her. She looked up and through the crowd spotted the solider, Aughrim, standing beside Ralof. Aughrim pointed at her and Djarfskald watched as Ralof's eyes followed the man's finger. The look of worry was quickly replaced with a mixture of surprise and elation. He mouthed her name, possibly spoke it to himself as he hurried towards her.

Djarfskald stood, a smile wide on her own face as Ralof drew close. She expected something awkward, maybe a short embrace, but the blonde Nord held her tightly, lifting her off her feet as he did so. Even with the chill of his armor Djarfskald could feel the warmth of his body, stronger than the warmth from the fire behind her.

"It's good to see you again, Ralof," Djarfskald laughed as she was placed on her feet once more.

Ralof smiled, "You have no idea how happy I am right now. Where are you staying? I know it might not be the most comfortable but if you need a bed there is room in the barracks."

"As lovely as that offer is," Djarfskald replied, "I actually have a room here."

"That is probably the better choice." Ralof released his hold on Djarfskald, retrieving a vacant chair and pulling it close to the fire. Slipping off his helmet he waited to sit until his companion did so. "What have you been up to all this time?"

Djarfskald shrugged, "I've been travelling."

A slight smile crossed Ralof's face. "I thought you said you would have to give up your travels due to the civil war and the dragons."

"I guess I couldn't help myself. Old habits die hard."

"Truer words have never been spoken. When we met you had mentioned family in Whiterun; did you visit them?"

Djarfskald paused, her eyes turning to the fire. She didn't want to tell Ralof about her visit to Whiterun. No talk about the dragon because it would only lead to talking about her traveling to High Hrothgar. While it had been grueling and her time with the Grey Beards eye opening, it was something beyond personal. For some reason, though, none of that seemed to matter when she looked into those smiling blue eyes.

"I tried."

The smile on Ralof's face wavered. "Tried? What do you mean?"

"I went to the farm that I was born and raised in," Djarfskald explained, "and when I arrived I noticed a strange woman working in the field. It wasn't anything new; my father hired those who needed work. I approached her and asked if my father was around. She. . . she just looked at me like I was speaking another language. I told her I wanted to speak with my father, he owned the land. That's when she told me that she and her husband were the owners of the farm.

"I left. I couldn't respond to such a thing. Why would my family leave? That farm had been my parents' pride! All I could do was track down a family friend in Whiterun. She was still there, still selling her wares. She was surprised to see me, even more surprised when I asked what happened. My family left the farm two seasons ago. They gave up farming to live in Solitude, for some strange reason."

The out pour of it all left Djarfskald teary-eyed. She had been heartbroken when she received the news. In her mind she had been abandoned. Speaking it allowed had unlocked the emotion that she had kept locked up when she was in Whiterun. Her travels had made her a hardened adventurer. She could kill, steal, and pilfer items from caskets, but this had struck a chord.

Ralof looked at his hands, "I wish I could say something to comfort you but words seem to fail me."

Djarfskald shook her head. "I was foolish to think that nothing would change."

"Well, I suppose it's a good thing they weren't there, what with the dragon attack."

"You heard about that?"

"By this point everyone in Skyrim has heard about it," Ralof laughed. "Makes me happy to see you weren't harmed either. Were able to see the beast?"

Djarfskald weighed her options. While there was no harm in lying, there were already people who knew her as Dragonborn. Something like that would be hard to explain. "Yes, I saw it. In fact I was one of the brave few who fought the creature."

Ralof's eyes grew wide, "You fought it?"

"Yes," Djarfskald replied with a nervous chuckle, "and I believe I may have actually landed the killing blow."

Slowly Ralof leaned closer, his voice barely audible over the din around them. "I've heard rumors that Dovahkiin, the Dragonborn, was amongst the people who fought. Is that true?"

"Nobody knew they were there until after the battle, Ralof."

"So it is true! Was this one of the guards?"

"No, just a traveler who couldn't deny the Jarl of Whiterun the request; they had seen a dragon before any way."

Ralof began to respond but silenced himself as he stared at Djarfskald. She could see the thought cross his mind; could it be? Could this woman possibly be the traveler? He voiced his curiosity, ". . . you?"

All Djarfskald could do was smile nervously and nod.

"I wouldn't have guessed that you would be such a person."

"It's not like I knew and didn't tell anyone. Killing the dragon seemed to unlock something."

"No matter," Ralof smiled. "You're still the young Nord woman who broke an Imperial soldier's nose while mostly naked."

Djarfskald blushed, punching Ralof in shoulder as he broke into laughter. "Be quiet!"

"Now, why don't we have a drink," Ralof chuckled, "in honor of your arrival."

"You don't have to stand watch or anything?"

"It's just a drink and besides, I won't be gone all night."


	7. Of Nightmares and Kings

_She was drinking alone but there was a man watching her. She enticed him easily. Offered a drink; one of many. It didn't take long before he was hanging onto her, an arm draped around her shoulder or her waist. Why wasn't she drinking? Oh, she was, but she savored it._

_ "I have more mead; better mead," she whispered. "Come to my place and you can have that and so much more."_

_ They moved through stone streets. Always stone, nothing else. Stone everywhere. Her house wasn't far. A quick walk from the inn. It was late and the guards paid little attention to the two figures as they stumbled._

_ "In the basement. The mead is in the basement, all the way at the bottom. No further still."_

_ It was dark. The small lamps on the floor helped little to guide the stranger. She knew the way by heart. How many steps it took._

_ "The wall has always been broken. I never thought of fixing it. Further in! That is where the best mead is stored."_

_ He saw the altar and if he wasn't drunk he would have run like others, the ones who hadn't drunk enough. This one. . . this one saw only the mead. He could taste it! He wanted it and moved closer to the peculiar bottle._

_ 'He is weak.' The voice that only she heard whispered in her ear, 'Prove your strength once more.'_

_ She grabbed a mace that had gone unnoticed, caked in the ichor of those before him. Her shadow cast over the man as he grabbed the mead. The weapon was hefted over her head and brought down with a fury, the razor edges disappearing through the man's hair. He made no sound as he slumped to the floor and the mead with him. His eyes were distant but he was still alive._

_ She stood over the man's body and watched the rise and fall of his chest. Once more she hefted the weapon and brought it down on the man. Over and over, reveling in the moment until the gurgled squelches were no more and that face was nothing more than a mottled mess of pulped tissue and broken bone._

_ Laughter filled the room. It wasn't her own but the voice's laughter. It pleased him when she struck down the weak before the altar. The way they cried out, the way his mace glistened with their blood. The laughter turned to an eerie rapping sound. A soft tapping on the altar, as if someone wanted her attention. She felt her heart race as it grew louder. . . ._

Djarfskald's eyes opened in a flash. Her head was throbbing in time with soft knocking at the door. She crawled out of the warmth of the bed, vision foggy and head swimming. The knocking paused for only a moment and Djarfskald welcomed the silence. She stumbled to the door as the rapping began once more, opening just enough to see who it was.

"Good morning."

It took Djarfskald a moment to recognize the woman who worked for the inn. "Oh, yes, good morning."

"I was wondering if you and your companion would like your morning meal sent to you."

"That would be nice, thank you." She waited until the woman walked away before closing the door. With a sigh Djarfskald rested her forehead against the cool wood, making a mental note that perhaps she should watch how much she had to drink. Then it struck her; the woman had asked about her and her companion.

Djarfskald spun around and pressed herself against the door. She didn't know what to expect as she tried to go through the previous night's events. "No more mead for me," she muttered. There was another body in the bed, half hidden beneath the blankets. She crept forward, breath caught in her throat as stood on her toes to see the person's face.

"Ralof!"

The blonde Nord sat up right in the bed, "What?" He looked at Djarfskald and his surroundings before pausing. Ralof avoided looking at his companion, running a hand through his rustled hair. "I can't believe this."

"Believe this?" Djarfskald grabbed her cloak and in one quick motion had it balled up and striking Ralof in the chest with a soft thud. "What in Sovngarde did we do last night?"

"Most likely not what you're thinking."

Djarfskald felt her face grow warm with the flush of embarrassment. "Then _what_ happened? I mean, we're both half dressed."

"We both had a little too much to drink," Ralof replied. "Last thing I really remember is helping you to your room and the fact that you wouldn't allow me to wander around Windhelm drunk."

Heaving a sigh Djarfskald crawled onto the bed, "I think this means we shouldn't drink anymore."

Ralof smiled, "At least not as much."

"Do you have time to eat? There's some food being brought up."

"Of course," Ralof chuckled. "I do have to report in at some point this morning. Ulfric apparently has something for my troop."

Djarfskald nodded, looking the blonde over. With a sigh she reached for him, "Turn around, I can fix your hair."

Ralof said nothing as he repositioned himself. When he was younger his sister the same thing whenever they roughhoused. He closed his eyes as he felt Djarfskald's fingers twine themselves through his hair, riding him of any knots the night's rest may have caused. The mundane task felt intimate in a way he would have never thought. She made quick work, fingers rebraiding what needed to be and not a hair out of place.

"While we were in Riverwood," Djarfskald said softly, "you told me that you would put in a good word if I decided to join the Stormcloaks."

"Mm-hm."

"I think I wish to call in that favor."

"You wish to join the rebellion?"

"I think it's what's right," Djarfskald explained. "Not only am I a Nord but I am Dragonborn. With the threat of our country being brought down my Imperial and dragons alike, why shouldn't ?"

Ralof took hold of Djarfskald's arm, silencing her words and halting her progress with straightening his hair. He turned to face her. While it was the duty of every son and daughter of Skyrim to protect their home he didn't want her to do so. He wanted to tell her no. It was obvious that Djarfskald knew what was running through his mind by the way her shoulders slumped.

"Are you sure you want to," Ralof sighed. "Not only will it cut into your time adventuring but you'll be in more danger than you probably want."

Djarfskald nodded, "After what happened in Helgen, I want nothing more than to see the Imperials and those damned Altmer out of Skyrim."

"A woman after my own heart," Ralof chuckled, relaxing his grip on Djarfskald's arm. She smiled and returned to fixing his hair. He watched her in silence; his thoughts wandered. "Why couldn't we have met in calmer times."

The smile on Djarfskald's face faded only slightly. "Shouldn't I be the one asking that?"

Once more Ralof took hold of Djarfskald, holding her wrists. He waited until she looked him in the eye before saying anything else. "You are unlike any woman I have met."

"Ralof. . ."

"I may have known other women but you. . . you transfix me and I would have you if I could. Please tell me that you feel something for me as well."

Djarfskald felt her stomach twist itself into a knot as she stared at Ralof. He was pouring his heart out and it was something she had always wanted to hear. All she could do was nod, unable to find her voice. Ralof embraced her, pulling her into the warmth of his body. He whispered something but it was lost to the sound of her own heart as it drummed in her chest.

"Nothing can become of this," Djarfskald said, "until this civil war is over."

"When we have driven out the Imperials, no matter where you are, I will find you." Ralof pulled away as he took off the necklace he was wearing and slipped it over Djarfskald's head, "I want you take this."

Djarfskald looked at pendant and recognized the symbol. "An amulet of Talos?"

"For protection and my own peace of mind."

* * *

><p>The Palace of the Kings was breathtaking, more so than Dragonsreach, mainly due to the air it produced thanks to its weather beaten stone. Djarfskald followed behind Ralof without a word. It took some talking but she convinced him to take her when he met with Ulfric and a man by the name of Galmar Stone-Fist. Ralof told her it was a long shot, that meeting with either man at that moment could be difficult. The moment, though, was proving him wrong.<p>

The throne room was massive, opening wide and tall and radiating the cold from the world outside. It was fought off, at time unsuccessfully, by a large hearth that housed a roaring fire. A large table sat cleared away and waiting for whatever meal was to come, all before an empty throne.

"This place seems rather quiet," Djarfskald whispered.

Ralof smiled, "They should be in the war room. Follow me."

It was through a side doorway and a narrow hall that Ralof led her, stepping to one side the moment he entered the room. Djarfskald stood in the door way and stared. A large oaken table sat with a map of Skyrim laid atop it, flags marking strategic points no doubt. A large man dressed in furs loomed over the table with his face set in a grim expression. Beside him was Ulfric. His eyes were trained on an axe that lay across the map of Skyrim.

Ralof cleared his throat, "Sir, I'm reporting in."

The man dressed in furs looked up, eyes trained on Djarfskald before turning to Ralof. "Who's the woman?"

"Sir, this woman-"

"My name is Djarfskald and I am here to fight the Empire," Djarfskald interjected, trying her best to ignore the surprised expression on Ralof's face.

"Join us?" the man snorted. "While we need every able-bodied man and woman of Skyrim, by the looks of you I'm not sure you have what it takes."

Ulfric smirked and turned his attention to the three of them. Djarfskald noticed the slight squint of the man's eyes as he looked at her. In her mind she begged the man to recognize her in some fashion. "You," he said, "seem familiar. How do I know you?"

"She was with us in Helgen," Ralof replied, his eyes shifting the man in furs. "Galmar, she was the girl that was with me when I escaped. I know her strength and I can vouch for her abilities."

Galmar frowned, "Ulfric told me about Helgen and I suppose if you made it through you're worth something but I will still need proof."

Djarfskald glanced at Ralof and watched as his mouth slowly set into a solemn line. "Djarfskald was in Whiterun when the dragon attacked and was one of the many who took the creature down."

"You faced the dragon," Ulfric said, his attention now fully on Djarfskald. "I have many friends in that city and many accounts on what happened there. Quite a few told me of a Nord woman who was summoned by the Graybeards after using the Thu'um, the Voice. Am I safe in assuming that you are this Nord woman?"

"Y-yes," Djarfskald stammered. She shouldn't have been surprised but it had taken her aback. There wasn't much else she could say to Ulfric or Galmar. What and who she was, was on the proverbial table and it was their decision from that moment.

Galmar looked at Ulfric with an emotion in his eye that Djarfskald couldn't decipher. The two said something to each other without speaking or moving. The older man looked at her with a slight grin. "That is proof enough, Dragonborn. With you aiding us it won't be long until the Empire leaves our land."

Djarfskald looked at Ralof with a smile on her face; she fought the urge to embrace him. He mirrored her smile for a moment before turning his attention back to Galmar. "The orders sir?"

Ulfric heaved a sigh, eyes once more turning to the axe on the tabled. "Galmar, you're certain we're ready for this?"

"Whiterun's army will no doubt be bolstered with Legionnares," Galmar replied. "And those walls around Whiterun are old but they still stand. We're ready. And I may be old myself but I'll kick those damn walls down with my feet-if you would only ask to do it!"

"And I'm sure you could do it too," Ulfric chuckled. The smile and laughter was brief. Ulfric stood straight and seemed to take on a different air. "Alright; this is it. Send word: A new day is dawning and the sun rises over Whiterun."

Galmar grinned, "Aye! And the sons and daughters of Skyrim will greet that dawn with teeth and swords flashing."

Djarfskald furrowed her brow and leaned close to Ralof, "What does this mean?"

"It means we are marching on Whiterun," Ralof replied.

"What?" Djarfskald squawked.

Galmar turned to Djarfskald, "Is there a problem?"

"You're marching on Whiterun? Why," Djarfskald exclaimed.

"Balgruuf has decided to side with General Tullius," Galmar replied. "It is only the next step in this war and Whiterun will be ours."

Djarfskald could feel the color drain from her face, shocked by the idea that her first mission alongside the Stormcloaks was to march on her home. She ran a hand through her hair in an attempt to calm her nerves. It wasn't helping. "What are we to do?"

"Surrender," Ulfric replied, "is ideal. I want little casualty in this battle. I think it goes without saying but I want you on the front lines. I have a feeling about you. Your place is on the battlefield and I need you there."

"How long before the siege," Djarfskald inquired.

Galmar cocked an eyebrow, "I don't think you have any right to-"

"You have three days to do any preparations," Ulfric replied, paying no mind to his second in command.

Djarfskald murmured a 'thank you' before turning and rushing out of the room. She could hear the confusion in their voices and the annoyance in Galmar's deep voice. All that was on her mind was getting stronger. While it pained her to think of rushing into her home and possibly harming people she had known since childhood, she had to do something to make it quick.

It was the call of her name that caused Djarfskald to stop only feet from the palace's great doors. She turned and faced Ralof who wore his concern on his face. "Where are you going?"

"To High Hrothgar."

"To the Graybeards? Why now?"

"I have to do something for them and in return they can help me understand what it is to be Dragonborn," Djarfskald explained, her voice low. "Maybe I can use the Voice to help us make this battle quick. I have friends within those walls. Friends I don't want to see run through."

Ralof nodded, "I understand your worries, Djarfskald, but if they raise their blade to you all you can do is defend yourself. It is the Imperial Soldiers we want to see gone, not our kin."

Djarfskald threw her arms around Ralof, holding him close. "I will see you in three days, Ralof, I promise."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Note<strong>: I know things are different with the Stormcloaks' storyline but this fit for story purposes(real time versus video game time due to you being the PC). That and while the romance aspects of this seem to be 'moving fast' it fits in canon. At the Temple of Mara it is explained that there is little time for courtship for the Nords. You pretty much just find someone you like and that likes you, and you're good to go. XD_

_Anywho, thanks for reading!_


	8. I Took an Arrow

The sound of her voice echoed in her ears as did the drumming of her own heart. Djarfskald raced ahead of Galmar and the few soldiers that were trailing him. She had lost track of Ralof the moment she opened the gate and the Stormcloaks flooded into Whiterun. Much to her relief the civilians were locked away in their homes in an attempt to save themselves. The few who were in the streets as the towers burned around them fled to the shadows to put distance between them and the fighting.

Another Imperial soldier rushed Djarfskald, sword raised and battle cry piercing the air above the sounds of weapons clashing. She stood her ground and gathered her strength. "Fus!" Her voice cracked like thunder over the din of battle, the force of it sending the guard tumbling backwards. The Stormcloaks had grown accustomed to the sound quickly but it shocked the Imperials and gave her brothers and sisters their moments to strike.

"Get to the keep," Galmar's voice thundered over the battle, echoed by the cheers of others.

Djarfskald led the way, putting her bow on her back in favor of her two axes. Whatever fear had been in her mind during her days to prepare was gone. Adrenaline pumped through her and all she wanted and lived for was the thrill of battle. Her wounds were minor and her blood mingled with dirt of the town and the blood of the Imperial soldiers. She relished it.

Galmar led the troop up the steps to the keep. Two Stormcloaks stood before him, battle weary scouts but still holding their head high. "What is it?"

"The doors, sir, are barred from the inside. We'll have to hack it or burn it," one soldier replied.

"Woman," Galmar said, looking at Djarfskald, "do you think you can handle this?"

Djarfskald frowned, "Yes and don't call me woman, old man." She saw the hint of a smile on Galmar's face as she pushed by him and the two scouts. The troop followed close behind, ready to finish the battle. Djarfskald stared at the door. She focused her mind on the words, cleared away anything that fluttered in her thoughts that shouldn't be there.

"Fus Ro!"

The doors tore at the hinges, flying inward and slamming into the few soldiers that had been waiting to ambush any intruders. Djarfskald rushed in with the others. She spun her weapons and searched the nameless Imperial faces for that of the Jarl. She spotted him sitting on his throne dressed for battle. She could feel his eyes surveying the battle, perhaps lingering on her as they surged forward.

"You will go no further!" That voice was recognizable even over the pounding of her heart in her ears. Djarfskald watched as Irileth pulled her sword free of its scabbard, eyes burning as she moved stood between the Stormcloaks and her Jarl. The guards under her sprang forward with weapons raised and it took only a moment for Irileth to spring forward.

Djarfskald raised her axes in an attempt to block the blow, barely managing to stop the blade from striking her. The Dunmer barred her teeth like an animal. "Move aside," Djarfskald managed to say.

"I will not let my Jarl be taken by Ulfric and his dogs," Irileth snarled. She pushed harder against Djarfskald's axes and a wicked smile flashed across her lips as she felt the slightest give. "You will be another victory under my belt."

This wasn't how she wanted it to end, not at the hands of an elf. Djarfskald narrowed her eyes and tried to push back but Irileth seemed to house incredible strength in her small frame. She only had one choice if she wished to survive. "I'm sorry," she said. "Fus Ro Da!"

Irileth took the full brunt of the Thu'um. The force bashed her backwards, her body slamming into the steps just below Balgruuf's throne. Djarfskald steadied herself and looked at the Dunmer's motionless body. It took her a moment to notice the slight twitch in those open eyes; they turned to stare at Balgruuf, no doubt waiting for the man to do something.

Djarfskald could feel her energy waning. The battle was already taking its toll on her and they were close to finishing it. She stood amidst the battle and watched Balgruuf rise to his feet; he said something and motioned to the crowd. An arrow suddenly sunk itself in Djarfskald's left arm, knocking her back a step. The shock of the blow caused her to pause and stare at the shaft of the weapon. Another arrow struck her in the side and caused her to howl in pain, her hands now free of her weapon as she gripped the new arrow. Gritting her teeth she pulled it from her body and tossed it aside, ignoring the strange sensation as her blood began run down the length of her leg.

With a battle cry Djarfskald ran towards the only archer she spotted. The man faltered as he prepared his next shot giving her the chance she needed. She pummeled the archer, putting every ounce of strength in her blows. He held up his hands in defense, surprised by such a thing in the midst of blades clashing.

It was at that moment that Djarfskald felt her body go numb as a jolt erupted through. She cried out in pain as she felt herself go ridged. The sensation lasted only a moment but that moment caused her to drop to her knees. Djarfskald looked up and frowned; Farengar stood only a few feet away, hands raised and a slight stunned expression his face. She opened her mouth to use the Thu'um once more but the wizard let loose another strike of lightning, silencing her.

Djarfskald slumped to the ground in a heap. She could hear nothing but the crackling of lighting, felt nothing but the small jolts of electricity. She turned her eyes to Farengar and wished horrors upon him. The wizard looked beyond her with eyes filled with fear. He turned and ran, disappearing out of Djarfskald's vision.

'_This __isn't__ how__ I__ thought__ things__ would __end__ up.__.__.__._'

"I. . .her."

'_My__ first __battle__ should __have__ been__ perfect.__.__.__._'

". . . alive?"

'_But __no.__.__.__I__ was__ taken__ out__ by__ a__d amned__ wizard._'

The world around Djarfskald moved. No longer was she staring at a darkened corner but into Ralof's worry stricken face. She tried to move and speak, but her body still refused to respond. His eyes looked over her, his hand possibly touching her to see if she was still there. In her mind Djarfskald screamed and told him that all was well. She just needed time to heal.

"Galmar," Ralof shouted, looking over his shoulder. "I think she's still with us."

"Good! Someone take her so we can get her some proper healing."

Ralof looked back at Djarfskald, "I'm not sure if you can hear me but you'll be fine, I promise." He closed her eyes and for that moment she felt like one of the dead. The sounds around her were muffled but she could still feel Ralof's presence. For those last moments of consciousness that was all that mattered.

* * *

><p>There was nothing more hated in Djarfskald's mind then riding in a cart. When she had regained control of her senses and her body she wanted to walk, but she was still wounded and what control she did have wasn't enough. It was a mixture of Ralof agreeing to stay with her and Galmar's bull headedness that made her agree to being taken back to Windhelm by cart.<p>

Djarfskald found it rather surprising when she was taken to a private room. She had expected to be housed in the barracks with the other Stormcloaks and, in a way, she would have been happy to be there. The room she was placed in was in the midst of rooms meant for high officials. It was of little surprise that she heard that Ulfric's personal chambers was within the same area as that room.

"This is a bit much for a wounded soldier," Djarfskald said.

Ralof shrugged, "That may be true but you are no ordinary soldier. Ulfric is seeing to it that you are taken care of." He sat beside Djarfskald, hand stroking her cheek. "How are you feeling?"

"Good," Djarfskald replied. She held up her hands and wiggled her fingers with a smile. "Everything seems to feel better."

"What about your wounds?"

"Sore, as to be expected. The person who did the field dressing worked wonders. The mage that saw me said that everything should be fine within another day."

Ralof smiled, "I suppose it was a good thing that those arrows didn't go deeper than they had. You probably wouldn't see another battle for some time."

"What's happening now?"

"We plan," Ralof explained. "Ulfric and Galmar will begin working on our next action. In the meantime we receive orders. Galmar seems to be in a good mood so I've put in a request to patrol Riverwood for Imperial soldiers."

Djarfskald grinned, "Gerdur will be happy. What will I be up to?"

Ralof shrugged, "I'm not privy to that information. Ulfric wishes to speak to you personally about your next move."

"When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow morning." Djarfskald felt her heart skip a beat as Ralof leaned forward and pressed his lips against her forehead before hugging her gingerly. "I can't guarantee that I'll be able to see you before I'm off."

Djarfskald wrapped her arms around Ralof, holding him close. "I understand."

"Am I interrupting something?"

The two Nords pulled away from each other. Djarfskald recognized that voice and felt herself grow red with embarrassment. Ulfric stood in the doorway, eyes trained on the two of them. Ralof whispered his farewell and excused himself from the Jarl's presence. That man's dark eyes once more turned towards Djarfskald as she repositioned herself on the bedding.

"Are you comfortable," Ulfric asked.

Djarfskald gave a bashful smile, "Yes sir, but I did want to say that this is a bit much. I am nothing more than a soldier."

Ulfric stepped into the room, closing the door behind him before saying anything else. "You are something more, Djarfskald. You are Dragonborn and that is something you shouldn't forget. Besides, I have my reasons for housing you nearby."

"Sir?" Without much sound Ulfric drew close to the bed and produced a stack of parchment, dropping them into Djarfskald's lap. She looked at them; each page was blank. "What is this?"

"No one knows who you are," Ulfric replied. "You do not look the part of one of my Stormcloaks. It will be easy for you to slip into territories that I have little sway in and gather vital information."

Djarfskald looked up at the Ulfric with wide eyes, "You want me to be a spy?"

Ulfric smiled slightly, "Not quite. I don't wish that you put yourself in unnecessary danger but if you hear anything that may help our cause, I want you to send word. You will be able to travel and will be called back here to receive orders from me and me alone."

"As you wish," Djarfskald murmured. She couldn't contain her joy. The thought of traveling always made her giddy. Now she was doing so and continue in the march alongside the Stormcloaks. She looked up at Ulfric, "When do I start?"

"As soon as you are healed."


	9. Mother Dearest

_A/N: Might be spoilery if you haven't gone through the Dark Brotherhood quests. Thought I'd be nice and throw that out there._

* * *

><p>Djarfskald loved the way the leather clung to her, like a second skin. It made sneaking all the more easy. That thought was never far from her mind when she dressed for the Dark Brotherhood. It shouldn't have been, not at the forefront. She stared at the iron door before her; she had her mission. Licking her lips Djarfskald pushed open the door with little sound and slipped in, closing it quickly behind her. She had to move fast.<p>

The Night Mother's Coffin stood before a stained glass window, bathed in red light the window gave off. Djarfskald's heart pounded as she stared at the iron maiden inspired coffin. She knew what was inside and it made her stomach turn. There was the mission, though, and she couldn't defy Astrid, not after she finally had the woman's trust.

Producing a lock pick Djarfskald went to work. It wasn't long before she heard the familiar click of the item unlocking. She smiled to herself and without a moment to listen to fear she opened the coffin. The body inside was a shadow of its former self. The body's was hugging itself, head tilted to one side and mouth open in a silent call.

"Come on," Djarfskald murmured to herself. "Just hop in and don't think of it."

Taking in a deep breath Djarfskald stepped onto the small platform that the body rested on, her feet straddling those of the Night Mother. Her gloved fingers took hold of the doors and pulled them shut behind her. Darkness fell around her. Much to her relief the inside of the coffin was pitch black. While she knew there was a body before her there was no visual cue and the smell of flowers filled the small space, fending off any odors that might be present.

"Are we alone?"

Djarfskald jumped at the sound of Cicero's voice. She hadn't heard the man enter.

The manic jester laughed, "Yes, yes. . . alone! Sweet solitude. No one will hear us, disturb us. Everything is going according to plan. The others! I've spoken to them and they're coming around, I know it. The wizard, Festus Krex. . . perhaps even the Argonian, and the un-child. . . ."

The was a slight tapping on the coffin from behind Djarfskald, causing her to stiffen in fear.

"What about you? Have you," Cicero's voice wavered for a moment. "Have you spoken to anyone? No. . . No, of course not. I do the talking, the stalking, the seeing, and saying!" The man must have struck the coffin out of frustration, causing it to ring on the inside like bell. "And what do you do? Nothing! Not. . . not that I'm angry! No, never! Cicero understands. Heh. Cicero always understands! And obeys!" The jester's voice lowered, sounding almost sadden by what he had just admitted.

Djarfskald frowned, '_The__ man's__ daft._'

"You will talk when you're ready, won't you? Won't you. . .sweet Night Mother."

"Poor Cicero. Dear Cicero." Djarfskald felt her skin crawl as she heard those words, spoken by the breathy sweet voice of a woman, swirl around her. "Such a humble servant, but he will never be my voice. For he is not the Listener."

Cicero cried, "Oh but how can I defend you? How can I exert your will if you will not speak to anyone?"

"Oh but I will," that voice said. Djarfskald clamped her gloved hands over her mouth as she felt the faint touches of fingers trailing over her. It felt oddly affectionate as those ghostly hands stroked her hair. "I will speak to you, for you are the one."

'_No. __. __. __I'm__ going__ crazy_,' Djarfskald thought. '_It,__ she,__ isn't __talking __to __me._'

"Yes, you," the voice replied. "You who shares my iron tomb, who warms my ancient bones. I give you this task- journey to Volunruud. Speak with Amaund Motierre."

"Poor Cicero has failed you. Poor Cicero is sorry, sweet mother." The man was almost weeping. "I've tried, so very hard, but I just can't find the Listener."

Those ghostly hands embrace Djarfskald and for a brief moment she felt the warm comfort a mother's touch. "Tell Cicero the time has come. Tell him the words he has been waiting for, all these years: 'Darkness rises when silence dies'."

Djarfskald felt the cool iron doors behind her disappear and light flood around her as she fell onto her back. Whatever pain she may have felt was gone the moment she met the anger filled eyes of Cicero, who loomed over her. "What? What treachery! Defiler," Cicero hissed. "Debaser and defiler! You have violated the sanctity of the Night Mother's coffin! Explain yourself." He kicked her violently the moment she began to move, "Speak, worm."

"The Night Mother spoke to me," Djarfskald stammered, rushing to her feet. "She said I am the one."

Cicero's eyes grew wide, the anger leaving them for the briefest of moments, "She. . . spoke to you? More treachery! More trickery and deceit. You lie. The Night Mother only speaks to the Listener. And there is. . . NO. . . Listener!"

Djarfskald caught Cicero's arm as he shot forward, surprised to see the glint of a steel dagger in his hand. He stared at her, the surprise of being caught absent from his expression but his eyes filled with rage filled tears. "She said to tell you, 'Darkness rises when silence dies'."

"She. . . she said that?" The dagger fell from Cicero's hand with a clatter against the stone floor. He blinked away tears, "She said those words. . . to you? 'Darkness rises when silence dies'? But those are the words; the Binding Words. Written in the Keeping Tomes. The signal so I would know. Mother's only way of talking to sweet Cicero. . . ."

In a flurry of motion Cicero escaped Djarfskald's grip and the tears and sadness in his eyes were gone. In their place was a smile as a man danced around her. "Then it's true! She is back," he grinned. "Our lady is back! She has chosen a Listener and she has chosen you!" Laughter ripped through Cicero's body as he took hold of Djarfskald, forcing her to skip in a circle. "All hail the Listener!"

"By Sithis, this end's now!" The sound of Astrid's voice brought the strange dance to an end as Cicero wheeled around. She brandished her blade with a frown. "Back away, fool! Whatever you were planning is over!" Djarfskald hurried to the woman's side, surprised as she stepped between her and Cicero. "Are you all right? I heard the commotion. Who was Cicero talking to? Where's the accomplice? Reveal yourself, traitor!"

Cicero crossed his arms over his chest, "I spoke only to the Night Mother! I spoke to the Night Mother and she didn't speak to me! Oh no! She spoke only to her! To the Listener."

Astrid strode forward, seizing the jester by his collar, "What? The Listener? What are you going on about? What is this lunacy?"

"It's true, it's true!" Cicero let his head fall back as he was wracked with laughter. "The Night Mother has spoken! The silence has been broken and the Listener has been chosen!"

With a growl Astrid released Cicero from her grip and turned to Djarfskald. "What in Sithis' name is going on? Cicero spoke to the Night Mother, but she spoke to you?"

Djarfskald nodded, "It's true. The Night Mother spoke to me. She said 'I am the one'."

"What?" Astrid shook her head, "So Cicero wasn't talking to anyone else. Just the Night Mother's body? And the Night Mother, who, according to everything we know, will only speak to the person chosen as Listener. . .just spoke. . . right now. . .to you?"

"Yes," Djarfskald replied matter-of-factly.

A look of anger flashed in Astrid's eyes, "By Sithis. What did she say?"

"That I must speak to someone named Amaund Motierre in Volunruud."

"I have no idea who that is. But Volunruud, that I've heard of and I know where it is."

Djarfskald swallowed hard, "So I should go to Volunruud and speak to this man? Like the Night Mother has said?"

Astrid frowned, "No! Listen, I don't know what's going on here but you take your orders from _me_. Are we clear on that?" She shot Cicero a look of pure hatred as the man began to protest. "The Night Mother may have spoken to you but I am still the leader of this Family. I will _not_ have my authority so easily dismissed."

Djarfskald watched as Astrid left, barely hearing the woman give her further orders as she disappeared. She looked at Cicero; the man was staring at her with a smile on his face. "What do you think about all of this?"

"Cicero thinks Astrid is over stepping her bounds." The smile on Cicero's face was suddenly gone, replaced a look far more serious. "The Night Mother has spoken to you and you are Listener. She must pay for ignoring you and mother."

"Don't worry, Cicero. Give her time."


	10. Sing Me a Song

Djarfskald had been following the bard for days, perhaps going on two weeks by that point. She knew all of the man's songs and the banter he used with the crowds he drew. His name was Valund. He was an auburn haired Nord with set of green eyes that seemed to entrance his audience. The man enjoyed the attention, especially those of his female fans. That was why she was there.

Valund was a lady's man and was well known in the bardic circle as being one who bedded the most fans. The Nord enjoyed every moment of it and so did the women. With his rising fame he could get away with the act easier than anyone else. What the man hadn't expected was to have a jilted lover with a heart full of hate. She made no qualms in performing the Black Sacrament and gave Djarfskald the specifics of how she wanted the bard to die.

The hit was proving to be an interesting one, having not only to travel to see these shows but to blend in with the attendees. Djarfskald had purchased some clothes to wear while she was at Valund's performances. It was simple in color, earthy tones that she enjoyed so much. It had been years since she had worn a skirt but it was the low cut bodice and waist cincher she found uncomfortable. While the article of clothing would provide ample back support, it wasn't something to be worn whilst sneaking.

The performance came to an end like all the others. Valund gave a deep bow to the applause and sounds of merriment. His pockets were going to be full that night. While Rorikstead was a small town, it was close enough to the border of the Reach to make the average traveler wary. One wrong glance of the map and they could be in Forsworn territory. It was easy to spot a man with a lot of coin in his pocket and Valund seemed to be as flamboyant as they got.

Djarfskald watched Valund retire to his room alone but with a smile. She scanned the crowd but noticed none of the ladies slink in after the man. That was her chance. As per agreement she purchased a bottle of mead, taking a swig of it before discreetly pouring in the unknown emulsion. Djarfskald learned early on not to question those who did the Black Sacrament. All she was there for was to collect her money and any information on her mark.

It was easy enough to slip into the room unnoticed, even by Valund. It wasn't until she closed the door that the man paused in his task of looking through his traveling bag. "While I do enjoy the thought of company, tonight isn't. . . ." Valund's voice trailed off as he turned to Djarfskald. A smile slowly snaked across his face as he smoothed his hair. "Well now. What do we have here?"

"I was wondering if you would like a drink," Djarfskald replied.

Valund strolled forward, pressing a hand against the door while taking hold of the bottle of mead with the other. He leaned close to Djarfskald, the smile still on his face as his eyes seemed to crawl over every inch of her exposed skin. "I never liked drinking alone. It would make my night if you would stay a while longer."

Djarfskald gave a shy smile, trying her best not to push the bard away. Valund leaned ever closer and took in a deep breath. "I've noticed you in the crowd the past few nights," he said as he pulled away. "I'm starting to think that you're stalking me."

"I love your songs and your stories," Djarfskald replied quickly. "Your voice is something that I hear even while I dream. I couldn't help but follow you while I could."

The smile on Valund's face broadened as he took a long drink of the mead. Djarfskald was thankful for the information she had received. It was true that the man loved compliments and it was appearing that it was the easiest way to win him over. That and the laced mead. He looked at her with hungry eyes before placing the bottle on the bed side table.

"Tell me," Valund sighed, "why has such a lovely woman followed me around Skyrim?"

Now was the time she had to take the initiative. While he was a womanizer she had a feeling that he would enjoy someone a little straightforward. Djarfskald pushed herself off the door and slowly approached Valund. "I wasn't lying when I said your voice haunts my dreams," she explained. She circled him, fingers running along his shoulders. She could feel his muscles tighten beneath her touch as he relished the sensation. "The things you say and the noises you make. . . I suppose I wanted to know if my imagination was getting the best of me."

Those words caught Valund's interest. It didn't take any more coercion for the man to suddenly seize Djarfskald and push her to the bed. He whispered to her the things he wanted to do with her, to her, as he loomed over her. His hands undid the laces of her bodice, revealing more skin that Djarfskald had wanted. She bit her lip to silence her protests as she felt Valund's tongue run along newly exposed flesh.

"You are a beautiful example of Nord woman," Valund whispered. One hand trailed down Djarfskald's torso, feeling the curve of her body. "Like poetry in motion, no doubt."

"My body is your instrument and I will play any tune you wish of me."

Valund smiled and brought his lips to Djarfskald's ear, "The music I'll make is something that will live on in those dirty little dreams of yours."

Why wasn't the poison, or whatever it was that she had given the man, kicking in? It was time for plan B.

Djarfskald took hold of Valund and in one quick motion was straddling the man. He grinned wildly, lying against the pillows as his fingers gripped her hips. She had to make a show of it so he wouldn't catch on. Djarfskald grabbed the hem of her skirt and slowly began to drag it up her legs, exposing more and more of herself. She kept her eyes on Valund. The man was transfixed. His fingers dug into her skin with the anticipation. In the back of her mind Djarfskald laughed. The only thing that lay beneath her skirt for such a man was the knife strapped to her thigh.

As her fingers grazed the pommel of the dagger Djarfskald felt Valund's body go rigid beneath her. It was a moment later that the man's eyes slowly rolled back and his body was suddenly sent into convulsions. She didn't move, fingers gripping the dagger as she waited. The man made no sound as his body shook, fingers loosening their hold as a black liquid seeped from his mouth.

Then there was nothing. No movement from the man's eyes, no rise and fall of his chest. Djarfskald slid off him, fixing her shirt before retrieving the bag he had been looking through. A coin purse sat open and nearly bursting at the seams. Djarfskald pocketed it before slipping out of the room.

Another bard was playing, a woman this time, singing sweet songs of spring. The crowd that remained watched her, enraptured by her soothing melody. She had little time to listen. No-one noticed the scarred woman hurry out if the inn. It would be well into the morning by the time someone found Valund's body. Djarfskald had to report back to the young woman and tell her the details. No doubt she would wish to hear every detail. Djarfskald knew the best way to please the woman was to embellish the story. Just to end the poor woman's need for revenge.

What Djarfskald wouldn't give to be back in the Brotherhood's secure home. She had to speak with Nazir and there was little doubt that Cicero would be waiting for her as well, to hear their Mother's sweet words. The only thing she wanted more was warmth and laughter. While the group was less then appealing in most cases, they did feel like a second family. It didn't take much coercion to get some of the members to tell tales and if all else failed Cicero would provide her with much needed amusement.


	11. Selfish Man

_Author's Note: Hope everyone's holidays were enjoyable. Now that they have passed chapters will be posted. Thanks for reading and reviewing! I am happy to know people are enjoying this. :)_

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><p>"Sing us a song!"<p>

"Yes, a song!"

A drinking contest had been the start of it all. Djarfskald had arrived in Riverwood on her way to Windhelm, deciding to pay Ralof and Gerdur a visit. She had worn the regalia of the Dark Brotherhood as she slunk across the land but she had a feeling of the repercussions if she appeared in the village dressed as such. Stopping outside of town she decided to change behind the cover of some bushes. Dressing herself in what she had worn to kill Valund was her only recourse. With a smile, though, Djarfskald had a feeling that Ralof wouldn't have discouraged it.

There she was, though, taking standing beside a flushed Sven, who had his fair share of mead, and before a few of the villagers and many of the Stormcloak soldiers who patrolled the town. In any other circumstance Djarfskald would have balked at the idea of singing before a group but the mead had eased her nerves. She looked at Sven and chewed on her lower lip.

"What should I sing?"

Sven glanced at the crowd and smiled, "The Age of Oppression would be a crowd pleaser, I can promise you that!"

Djarfskald nodded at the suggestion and Sven began to play. She looked at the crowd; half were waiting to hear the song while the others were talking and laughing. She spotted Ralof sitting by the man who had started the night's merriment: Sam Guevenne. The Breton was leaning close to Ralof, both eying Djarfskald while he whispered to the Nord. Ralof didn't seem to reply, just raise his tankard and take another drink.

"We drink to our youth, and to days come and gone. For the age of oppression is now nearly done. We'll drive out the Empire from this land that we own. With our blood and our steel we will take back our home. . ."

The entirety of the inn's guests joined in the song, voices ringing high with smiling faces. Djarfskald grinned and let her voice soar. In the midst of the other voices she felt free and the joy that the others felt seemed to feed her. Sven laughed beside her, enjoying the moment and swaying with the music. The crowd cheered with the last note. Their voices praised Talos, praised Ulfric, and praised their Dragonborn.

Sam weaved through the crowd, tankard in hand. He stopped before Djarfskald and offered it with a smile. "My treat!" She took it with a grin, downing the brew with ease and raising the empty mug to the cheers of her brothers and sisters. "It seems like the crowd rather loves you."

Djarfskald nodded with a slight smile, "No doubt the mead is helping their moods."

"Ralof more than anyone else."

"Yes," Djarfskald replied. She watched Ralof through the crowd. His eyes were fixed on her before his attention was pulled away by another Stormcloak. "He looks troubled, though. You seemed to have a lengthy conversation with him. Do you know why?"

"The war is getting to him, I believe. A man can only take so much killing before he stops to think about his own life. I believe Ralof wants time to relax, enjoy life, and to be a man once more." Sam followed Djarfskald's gaze, taking a drink from his own tankard. "The easiest way for Ralof to be a man is to have a woman."

Djarfskald looked at her empty tankard as she took in Sam's words. The Breton had wandered away to join a group of soldiers. He laughed with them, his arm snaking around the waist of a woman as he offered her a drink. That was what she needed; another drink.

Moving through the crowd Djarfskald stopped at the bar and put the tankard down, "Give me another."

"I thought you said you weren't going to drink anymore."

Djarfskald couldn't help but smile. She turned to Ralof, "A few drinks couldn't hurt, now could they? Besides, I have you around so I don't have to worry."

Ralof nodded slowly and the shadow of a smile that had been on his face was no longer present. "It's been sometime since we've seen each other. I was beginning to worry that something may have happened to you."

"I've been traveling the country," Djarfskald replied as she received her new drink, "gathering information for Ulfric. I haven't seen much of anyone."

"What brings you back here?"

"Word was sent that I was to return to Windhelm and I thought a visit was in order. Seems like I made the right choice; I never thought that this place would be so busy."

Ralof pursed his lips and downed the remainder of his mead. "A new troop was sent. I've received word that my men and I are to leave for the camp in the Falkreath by sunrise."

Djarfskald cradled her tankard, staring at her partial reflection before looking at Ralof. "We can make the most of our time together, Ralof."

The sound of Sven's lute and voice drifted over the merriment, catching Djarfskald's attention. "Our hero, our hero, claims a warrior's heart. I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes." Silence slowly settled over the inn, eyes turning to the bard. "With a voice-wielding power of the ancient Nord arts. Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes. . ."

Ralof took the tankard from Djarfskald, placing it on the bar before taking her hand into his and leading her through the crowd. No one seemed to notice the two slip away as the haunting melody carried through the night air. Neither said a word as they wandered to the river that flowed past the town. It was the spot where Djarfskald had first met Gerdur and the place where she had begun to truly think of her family.

Standing at the water's edge Djarfskald felt Ralof's arms encircle her. She welcomed the embrace, leaning against him with a sigh. "This is how it should be," he whispered. He held her tighter and rested his chin on Djarfskald's shoulder. "I've never really thought about settling down, let alone back here, but with you it seems like the right thing."

Djarfskald smiled, "You flatter me. It's hard to believe that I can change your view so easily."

"Perhaps I was looking for someone to settle down with. . . "

"And I just happened to be that person? Some random woman destined for the chopping block?"

"No," Ralof whispered. "You are the woman who is to help us liberate Skyrim and the woman who will save our country from these dragons."

"You put so much faith in me, Ralof."

"Everyone has."

Djarfskald turned her eyes skyward, tracing the unseen lines of the constellations. There was a woman in Whiterun that read fortunes. She had read the stars for her as a child and spoke of grand adventures. Djarfskald couldn't help but wonder if this had figured into the reading. Did that woman know of her destiny as Dragonborn? None of that mattered, though; not now.

"You're quiet," Ralof said.

"What do you see me as," Djarfskald asked, turning to face Ralof in their embrace. "Do you see me as Dragonborn?"

Ralof smiled softly but didn't reply. She hadn't expected him to kiss her and at first didn't know how to respond. It didn't take long before she returned the gesture, her arms draping over his shoulders as he pulled her roughly against him. He pulled away slowly with a heavy sigh, "I see you as the type of woman I have wanted; strong and vibrant, exuding femininity even as she's burying her blade into the throat of an enemy."

Djarfskald couldn't help but chuckle. "I never would have pegged you as a romantic, Ralof. I see you more as the man ready to joke and fight for what is needed. Where did this type of man come from?"

"Gerdur knows how to weave a story," Ralof replied. "I think I listened to one too many as a child."

"I'll have to thank her," Djarfskald smiled, kissing Ralof softly. "Why don't we go back to the inn? I'll buy you another drink and we can enjoy the night while we have it."

Ralof shook his head, "I'm not sharing you this time. The night will be ours alone."

"Such a selfish man."


	12. Tread Carefully

Djarfskald stared at Ulfric, "Markarth? I heard that you have troops gathering in Falkreath. Why am I not there as well?"

Ulfric glanced up from his map, a slight smile tugging at his lips. "I understand how eager you are, Djarfskald, but I need you to do this for me. The Reach is our next target and I need you to see how many friendly forces we can must within Markarth."

"Am I safe in assuming that you're nervous about sending me into battle?" Djarfskald watched that smile play across Ulfric's face before the Jarl turned his attention back to the map of Skyrim. She felt her blood boil. "You were the one that said my place was on the battlefield! Was it because I fell during you siege on Whiterun?"

"My decisions are my own," Ulfric snapped, eyes suddenly flaring, "and I will have you remember who you are speaking with. Dragonborn or no you are a soldier under my command."

Djarfskald met Ulfric's steely gaze. She knew he was right but she wanted to be in the tussle of battle, not skulking around. There was enough of that when she was fulfilling contracts for Astrid and Nazir. The Jarl's eyes narrowed slightly as Djarfskald held his gaze.

"Do I make myself clear?" Ulfric's voice was low and thick with his irritation. There was no point in trying to push the situation further.

"Yes, sir," Djarfskald replied with a slight bow of her head. She turned on her heel and began to walk away, stopping as she heard the Jarl clear his throat.

"There have been a rash of murders," Ulfric said, "that people have claimed is the doing of the Dark Brotherhood. Have you heard about this?"

Djarfskald stood rigid, afraid to turn and face the Jarl in fear that her expression would give everything away. "No, I have not. I tend not to travel in circles where talk of murder is prominent. Is that something you wish me to look in to as well?"

"Only if they appear to be a threat. I'll send word if I must."

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><p>Three weeks within the Reach and two within the walls of Markarth. While she knew that the Thalmor were present, albeit a small presence, in the city she had yet to run into the elves. Djarfskald had spent her time listening to the citizens of Markarth and going out of her way to gain the good graces of the city's Jarl. All it took, though, was taking out a few Forsworn camps and the man was happy. Happy enough to make her a Thane. In the end she was still no closer in figuring out where the city's true alliance lay.<p>

Djarfskald stepped out of the throne room with a slight frown. She wanted out of this city of stone. Word of the Falkreath's liberation had reached her and while she was happy with the success she wished she could have been there. The only thing that seemed to lighten her mood was the fact that she had purchased a home within the city, albeit after a few days of being Thane. She no longer had to be bothered with the inn and listen to the owners' argue with each other.

'_A bath_,' Djarfskald thought as she slowly descended the stairs. _'I think a bath is in order. . . . or at least some time away from the world._'

"So. . . you must be the new Thane."

Djarfskald turned and looked up the stairs. She could feel the color drain from her face as she stared up at a Thalmor Justiciar, a tall robed Altmer flanked by two well armored elves. Swallowing her fear Djarfskald bolstered herself, "That I am." She noticed a slightly amused look cross the elf's face when she responded, fueling her nerves and anger alike. Without a word she turned and continued on her original trek to Vlindrel Hall.

"I would actually like to have a word with you." Every nerve was on edge as Djarfskald heard the Altmer descend the stairs after her, the man's armored escorts close behind. She made no move to stop or indication that she was listening but he continued. "Since you are a Thane of Markarth I thought it would be prudent to introduce myself. My name is Ondolemar and-"

"And my name is Djarfskald. It's a pleasure to meet you." Djarfskald came to a slow stop on the last step, starring at the Altmer once more. "If you don't mind I have some things to attend to. I've had a rough couple of days."

Ondolemar smiled slightly, "So I've heard. This will be brief then. I am here specifically to root out those who worship Talos. I am hoping to count you among those who will help me in my cause."

Djarfskald fought the urge to grasp the pendant that lay hidden beneath her shirt, knowing that Ondolemar would become suspicious. In all good conscious, though, she couldn't agree to help the man. Not against her brothers and sisters. "No."

The smile faded from Ondolemar's face and his brow furrowed. "Why do you refuse?"

"My reasons are my own, Altmer," Djarfskald replied vehemently. "I pay no mind to those who wish to worship Talos." She let out a grunt as Ondolemar seized her by the fabric of her shirt and wrenched her forward. To hold her in place he took hold of a handful of hair, forcing her to look him in the eye.

"I think I have sufficient reason to think you might be a worshipper of Talos with that sort of response. We have ways of making people talk. No one would think twice if an adventurer just disappeared for a time." Ondolemar sneered as Djarfskald struggled in his grasp, drinking in her pained expression as he tightened his grip. His eyes swept over her face, noting the scars on her face before spying the glint of metal around her neck. "What is this?"

Djarfskald's struggles increased as she felt the Altmer's gloved fingers slip beneath her collar and begin to tug gently on her necklace. As much as she wanted to strike the man she knew his two guards could take her down with ease. No matter her rank at the moment, there would be little leniency in attacking a Justiciar. More so in lands they held sway.

"My Thane?"

Those words seemed to shield Djarfskald from any more of the Altmer's vicious advances. The sneer was wiped from his face as he released his hold on her, pushing her to the side with as much force as he had. "Our eyes are everywhere, Nord, make no mistake." Ondolemar brushed past her without another word, the armored elves following with quick strides.

"Are you okay?"

A hand came into Djarfskald's line of sight, catching her off guard. She looked up into the tattooed face of a blonde Nord. His gaze was unwavering and the fact that one eye was rendered blind seemed of little concern to him. Djarfskald excepted the aid and was easily hoisted to her feet. "Yes, yes I am. Who knows what would have happened if you didn't stop that," she sighed. "Thank you. . . ."

"I'm known as Argis the Bulwark," the Nord replied. "I'm your housecarl."

Djarfskald gave a weak smile suddenly coming to the realization of how tired she truly was. "You're doing a wonderful job so far, Argis."

Argis seemed to suppress the beginnings of a smile as he gave a curt nod. "I just want you to know, my Thane, that I don't trust that elf. I've heard of many people disappearing thanks to him."

"I agree but that's talk for another time. Do you know where Vlindrel Hall is?"

"Yes, I do."

"Please lead the way. I am in need of solitude."

"Understood. Please follow me."


	13. Rid of One, Two More Appear

While she loved Skyrim and its wintery nights Djarfskald cursed the biting wind around her. She trudged up the slope with Argis in tow. The day had been troublesome. What had been intended as a simple jaunt through the countryside had ended up being nothing but fight after fight. If they weren't fending off animals they were fighting bandits. Djarfskald thanked the gods that a dragon hadn't decided to descend upon them.

"You're looking tired, my Thane."

Argis' voice barely registered, the wind seeming to carry it away. Djarfskald glanced back at the man, "Is it that obvious?"

The barest hint of a smile passed over the Nord's face. "I would suggest we make camp and rest for the night. There is no use pushing yourself."

Djarfskald frowned and turned her attention back to trekking up the path. There was little point in arguing with him because he was right. "We'll make camp once we find a suitable spot." She could hear him snort in response. The two were becoming constant traveling companions and they knew the other was bullheaded. Djarfskald would carry on through the night if given the chance, even with the cold wind, but she knew Argis wouldn't have any of it. He was sworn to protect her and if that meant forcing her to sleep, even if it is by a blow to the head, then he would do it.

The duo crested the slope, escaping the trees that had barely shielded them from the wind, and paused. While the mountain rose higher behind them, they had a breathtaking view of Skyrim. Djarfskald shrugged off her pack, letting it fall to the ground with a crunch of snow. No matter how many mountainsides or cliff faces she had stood on, each had their own special view of their homeland. She couldn't help but stare.

"I take it we're making camp?"

Djarfskald nodded, lowering the hood of her cloak. "Set up the tent. I'll find us some kindling." It took her another moment of staring before she tore herself away from the sight. She pushed back down the path, disappearing into the thickening trees in search of wood. Her mind was focused on the cold more than finding kindling. It didn't take long, though. before she stumbled upon an interesting sight; an empty camp.

Djarfskald slunk into the clearing, keeping to the shadows and scanning the area the neglected fire lit. It was clear. There were two bed rolls, both empty with bags close by and a chest flanking each one. She smiled to herself. Who ever made this camp was planning on having a large haul. It was quick work looking through the bags. All that they housed were a few gold and a few remaining rations. She knew the big yield was lying within the chests.

"Come to mama," Djarfskald whispered. She produced her lock pick with a grin and went straight to work. In the back of her mind she wondered what Argis would think if he saw her. She was the newly dubbed Thane of Markarth after all. How strange that her first duty as such was to take him out into the wilderness, leaving him to make their camp, and steal, albeit from thieves. That didn't seem to matter as she heard the click of the chest unlocking.

"What do we have here?"

Djarfskald had little time to respond to those words before she felt the pommel of a weapon strike against her back. She grunted as she slammed into the chest, only to be seized by powerful hands and pulled towards the fire. Two men hovered over Djarfskald, smirks on the dirty faces of two Altmer.

"Seems like we found ourselves a sneak-thief," the dusky auburn haired Altmer sneered.

"Look, I didn't take any-"

The blonde Altmer struck Djarfskald cheek with the back of his hand, silencing her instantly. He snorted with a smile and looked at his companion, "What do you think we should do with her?"

The auburn haired man chuckled as his fingers removing the leather strap from that bound his hair. "I think we've bought ourselves some fun, brother. Her screams won't be heard at this time of night."

Djarfskald's eyes grew wide. She tried to scramble away, panic welling in her mind. She made little progress before the elves grabbed her cloak and gave it a powerful pull. She fell back choking and sputtering as they pulled her back to where she had laid before. "Please," Djarfskald begged, "let me go and I'll give you anything. I'm the Thane-"

"Oh you're giving us something right now," the auburn Altmer quipped, causing his companion to chuckle. "Bind her hands, Hyaril. We don't need the bitch trying to strangle us."

Once more Djarfskald tried to call out but was struck by Hyaril again. He held her wrists tightly with one hand while the other fished for some form of binding. He eyed her with a smile, "Be nice and we won't have to give you any more scars." It took him only moments to tie her hands, forcing them above her head as he pushed her harder into the ground. The elf's free hand ran across her neck, fingers finding the chain that was hidden beneath her leather armor. With a sneer he pulled the necklace free, "Aldaril, look at this! Seems like we snagged ourselves a worshipper of Talos."

The auburn haired elf came into Djarfskald's view, eyes on the talisman and a smile on his face. "Oh this will be fun, brother."

Djarfskald struggled against the binds, pulling free of Hyaril's grasp and sitting upright. She hoped to the gods that this would work. "Zul Mey Gut," Djarfskald murmured, her mind focusing on her housecarl's name. She did what she could for the moment.

It was Aldaril that struck her that time, pushing her onto her back with his boot. Djarfskald didn't struggle as the elf straddled her, producing an elven dagger with a grin. "I'm going to take my time with you." The dagger's tip was trailed along her jaw, slipping across her throat with the lightest of touches before coming to the stitching of her leather armor. His eyes flicked up and met Djarfskald's. She almost wished the elf would just slit her throat.

Hyaril stood behind his brother, just within Djarfskald's line of vision. He had a lazy smile on his face as he watched Aldaril slowly cut the stitching of her armor. The blonde elf looked up, confusion on his face moments before an arrow lodged itself deep in his throat. Hyaril stumbled backwards, eyes wide and hands tugging at the arrow's shaft. Djarfskald smiled slightly as he disappeared from her sight without a sound.

"A smile, huh," Aldaril chuckled. Djarfskald felt the pressure of the blade suddenly ripping at the threads in her armor. The cold rush of night air wrapped around her bicep, slithering across her chest with an alarming rate. "Why don't I give you something to smile about?"

An arrow suddenly sunk into the ground beside Djarfskald, silencing Aldaril and steadying his hand. The elf pushed himself to his feet and turned towards the direction the arrow seemed to have come from. Djarfskald sat upright and began to tug at her bonds. It was the Nordic war cry that caused her to pause and look up in time to see Argis drive a sword through the Altmer with little resistance.

Argis let the weapon drop with the elf's dead body, quickly producing a dagger and freeing Djarfskald. He froze as she embraced him. "M-my Thane, I'm sorry I didn't come sooner."

"I'm just happy you heard me, Argis," Djarfskald replied, vainly trying to hold back tears of relief as she released her companion. "Neither of us could've known that a pair of thieves were hiding out here. . . but it seems to be my luck nowadays."

Slowly Argis stood, extending his hand and lifting Djarfskald to her feet. "By the looks of them they were trained in stealth, much like yourself."

"Compliments will get you far, Argis," Djarfskald chuckled, wiping away tears with the heel of her hand. "Truth be told you're not too bad with a bow! That first shot of yours was beautiful."

Argis seemed to fight back a smile, "Thank you, Thane."

"The second one, not so much."

"My apologies. I was worried that I may hit you." Argis looked at the Altmer he had run through. Without a word he seized the sword and wrenched it from the unmoving body. He turned to Djarfskald, bloody sword in hand. "We should gather that kindling before it gets much colder."

Djarfskald nodded, "And whenever we reach an inn I will make sure you have the best the establishment has to offer."


	14. Fading Laughter

**!SPOILER ALERT!** This has to do with the Dark Brotherhood questline. If you haven't started it(and plan to) or gotten far, be warned. If you don't care, read on and enjoy!

**Author's Note**: I'm sorry if Cicero seems OOC. I love the crazy bastard but I feel that it's hard for me to capture his character properly, especially with this scene. :\ So sorry if it doesn't jive with the game's personification. Same for the 'Spectral Assassin,' though he doesn't have much of a personality in this game.

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><p>Djarfskald gripped her dagger and stared down at the bleeding jester. He was ready to die and she had been given orders to do so, orders that she was more than willing to fulfill. But why? Searching her own feelings she realized that she bore Cicero no ill will. Yes, he could be irritating at times but he was the only one in their 'family' that seemed happy to see her. The others treated her as a fellow worker with Astrid being the one who pulled the strings. She, above all others, treated her with growing animosity. All because she was the Listener and could take whatever power Astrid held away. There was no reason to kill this man. He was the only person besides Nazir to show interest in her life.<p>

Frowning, Djarfskald stepped forward and watched as Cicero curled in on himself even more. She pitied him. Sheathing her weapon she closed the gap between the two of them. Cicero let out a strangled cry of surprise as Djarfskald tore his hat away, eyes clamped shut and waiting for whatever was to happen. Djarfskald could tell by the twitch of his mouth he hadn't expected her to touch him, not with her hands. She cradled his face in her hands, eyes scanning his hairline for the source of the slow stream of blood. The wound wasn't deep; a good sign.

"You will not kill Cicero?"

Djarfskald looked into the jester's eyes and shook her head, "No. You are our Mother's Keeper. Someone has told me that killing you would be unwise and no one wants to make the Night Mother or Sithis angry."

Cicero pulled away from Djarfskald. "Then let Cicero leave." He muffled a cry of pain as he tried to stand, falling to the ground in a heap. His gloved hands were covered with blood as they tried to hide the large wound on his side.

"You won't survive for long," Djarfskald sighed. "Let me help you, Cicero."

"Why? Why does Listener want to help poor Cicero? Astrid wants you to kill Cicero, yes?"

The frown on Djarfskald's face grew as she checked her pockets for some stray cloth. "I don't care what Astrid wants; not now. You were nice to me, Cicero, and while they may want you gone, I don't want you dead." She grabbed Cicero's hat and without a word tore at its seams. She ignored the jester's pained expression at the item's destruction and wondered if the man truly knew what was going on around him. "I've read your journals, Cicero. I know how hard it's been for you these past years," Djarfskald explained, pushing the man's hands aside.

Cicero looked at Djarfskald with narrowed eyes, "You've read Cicero's journals? Those were private thoughts. Thoughts only for Cicero!"

The jester hissed in pain as the fabric was pressed against his wound and all Djarfskald could do was give a slight smile. "I would have never found you if it weren't for those journals and you would have died." She looked the jester in the eye, "Is that what you wanted?"

"All Cicero wanted was to protect Mother. . . to go back to the old ways. Astrid and the beast don't like Cicero. They don't want to listen to Mother. Just Astrid." Cicero winced once more as Djarfskald put slight pressure on his wound. "If Cicero dies than there is no one to protect Mother. No. Cicero doesn't want to die."

Djarfskald took Cicero's hands and placed them over the dampening fabric. She wasn't well versed in magic but there were a few spells she knew. Luckily she knew one that could help Cicero fend of death a while longer. She covered the jester's hands with her own and focused on her spell of choice. All her energy went into that single burst of swirling light and for a moment her vision went dark.

"Magic," Cicero whispered. "Cicero didn't think Nords liked magic."

"How's the wound?"

"Cicero still feels pain but the red, red blood has stopped."

"Good." Djarfskald heaved a sigh and looked the jester over. It was obvious he was still in physical pain and she had to take his word that the bleeding had ceased. There was nothing more she could do. "You have to leave Skyrim, Cicero."

Those earthy orbs grew wide with a childlike fear. "Leave Skyrim? Leave Mother? But who will protect Mother? Tend to her?"

"I don't know but I'll figure something out. Will you be okay?"

"What will Cicero do? Cicero is used to silence but Mother had always been there."

Djarfskald leaned forward and pressed her lips against Cicero's forehead. She could feel the man grow rigid from the touch but he remained silent. "Mother will always watch over you, Cicero. She cares for you. I can't promise this but if the Dark Brotherhood is rebuilt than I will find you and you can tend to her." She stood slowly and looked down at the shocked man; he seemed on the verge of weeping. "For now, though, you are no longer part of the Brotherhood."

She couldn't stay in that room. Not while Cicero curled in on himself and wept silently. Djarfskald knew she had torn apart the man's world. The Brotherhood was all he had known for so long. The Night Mother had been his sole companion for years and even though she had remained silent he was ever vigilant. It was for the best. The jester remained alive and while the possibility was slim, there was that chance he could return to their family.

Saying nothing more Djarfskald left, moving silently through the abandoned sanctuary. She would tell Astrid that she killed Cicero. Hopefully she believed her story and the jester had his chance to heal and leave Skyrim. The man couldn't be crazy enough to try and return for the Night Mother. The two had an odd acceptance of the other and their position within the Dark Brotherhood. Hopefully he would listen.

"You let the jester live."

Djarfskald paused at the sound of the sultry voice. She turned and watched as the ghost seemed to materialize from the wall. "You told me the Dread Father didn't want his death," she replied softly. "Who am I to go against that?"

A smug smile passed over the ghostly form as he moved towards her. "Lead and I will follow, child of darkness."

The two moved in silence. Djarfskald never knew what to say to the spirit but he was more than happy to comment on their situation. She had summoned him the moment Arnbjorn had left. There was no guessing in what Cicero was capable of doing and she wanted as much protection as possible. This spirit, who introduced himself as Lucien, had proved himself before, both in battle and with strategy. She was thankful for his insight.

"What should I do now?" Djarfskald murmured.

"The Keeper is a sacred position within the Dark Brotherhood," Lucien replied. "Ask yourself, do you trust the wisdom of our Lady?"

Djarfskald shot Lucien a venom filled glare. "Don't fill my head with more doubt. Yes she acted strange the moment I was declared Listener but that was to change the entire structure of the Brotherhood."

"_Her_ Brotherhood," Lucien sneered. "She defied you and wished you to kill the Keeper. A good Purification might be what the Sanctuary needs."

"Don't you dare start with that," Djarfskald growled. The smile on the ghostly face didn't waver and it seemed to infuriate her more. "I've had enough, Lucien. I'll summon you when I need more of your eye opening advice."

Lucien moved forward, "We are bonded, you and I. Joined through the powers of the Void."

Djarfskald frowned and snuffed out Lucien like the flame of a candle. As much help as the spirit was, his thoughts and words bordered on frightening. He mentioned many times how they had been bonded. All thanks to his first summoning. She wondered what he was like before his death.

_'No doubt just as creepy_,' Djarfskald thought as she exited the sanctuary. _'If he tries to touch me, I swear I'll kill him for the next five days._'

The one thing that the abandoned sanctuary had over her own was the view. Djarfskald stood mere feet from the edge of the ocean. While such a sight was normally soothing she couldn't help but be troubled by everything. She stared at the slow moving waves and prayed that this whole ordeal was over with.

"My Thane."

Djarfskald felt her heart jump into her throat as she heard Argis' voice. She had forgotten the man was within the city. After receiving her orders to track down Cicero she returned to Falkreath to retrieve Argis. The man didn't ask questions whenever they arrived in the city and she disappeared. Nor did he ask questions when she announced they were traveling to Dawnstar. The last thing she had said to him was something about finding them a room before tracking down the sanctuary.

"Argis," Djarfskald replied with a smile. "Did you find us a room?"

"I did." Argis looked Djarfskald over, his brow furrowing as he moved closer to her, "Are you alright?"

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

Standing beside Djarfskald, Argis took her hands into his and raised them. "Your hands, they're covered in blood."

Djarfskald felt herself blush; she had forgotten about the blood. She looked at Argis and pulled her hands away, hoping the man didn't notice the ancient doorway that seemed all too close now. "I didn't want you to worry," Djarfskald stammered. "I was wondering around and the next thing I know a wolf is charging me. All I had was my dagger."

She knew the look Argis gave her all too well. He didn't buy the story, not completely, but he wasn't going to get into an argument with her. "We should clean your hands before we get to the inn."

"Thank you, Argis."

"For what, my Thane?"

"Just for being you. And please, call me Djarfskald from now on."

"Yes, my Thane."


	15. Bulwark

**Author's Note**: Sorry for the lack of updates. Life, Skyrim, and a slight case of writer's block decided to show up and party. I do want to promise that there will be some Ralof/Dragonborn stuff coming up, so if that's why you're here no worries. :P

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><p>Djarfskald stared at the hastily written note and sighed; it would have to do. Running a hand through her hair she pushed herself away from the small table. She felt horrible lying to Argis again but she felt there was no other way in so many of those occasions. Any connection with the Dark Brotherhood had to be kept secret, almost more so than her connection with the Stormcloaks. Her dealings this time was with the latter.<p>

"My Thane?"

"Argis," Djarfskald sighed with the slumping of her shoulders, "I told you to call me by name." She was regretting having such a light sleeper as a housecarl, especially one that took his job so seriously. The man preferred that their rooms be the same but if Djarfskald balked at the idea he would recant and a neighboring room would suffice. These past few nights, though, he seemed to want to keep close to her.

Djarfskald looked at her Nordic companion and recognized the slight furrow of the man's brow. He was frustrated, not only at the idea of calling her by name but by something else. She had been caught trying to sneak away. There was no way she could deny it. There she was, dressed in her well worn leather armor with her bow and ax in their proper places.

"Where are you going?" That was something else Djarfskald learned to enjoy about Argis; he was straight to the point about everything.

"I have somethings I must attend to," Djarfskald replied, "_alone_. There are two things I need you to do for me, Argis. Don't follow me and do not enter The Reach."

Whatever tired look that had been in Argis' eyes that evening was now gone, "It's finally happening."

Djarfskald cocked her head to one side, "What do you mean?"

"The Stormcloaks are taking The Reach, aren't they?"

The question felt like a deathblow. Djarfskald had prided herself in being secretive of her work with the Stormcloaks, especially while in The Reach. She owned nothing that bore the Stormcloak insignia. She had no armor that was bathed in their colors. She was nobody. The last thing she needed was for Thalmor Agents to find her and take her in the dead of night.

"How," Djarfskald's voice trembled and faded for a moment. She bolstered herself. "How did you know?"

Argis took in a deep breath, immediately noting the change in Djarfskald. "I've been by your side, night and day, for weeks now. It didn't take long to notice how you watched the Thalmor, how you acted around them, and those strange notes that would come and go. I know who you are and what you wear around your neck."

Djarfskald narrowed her eyes, fingers itching to take hold of her ax. "Out with it."

"You are a Stormcloak agent, plain and simple. And that amulet you wear bears the symbol of Talos, which is why you hide it."

"What now? Do you think you can turn me in to the Thalmor? People will look for me."

Argis shook his head, "Let me go with you."

"You wish to protect me," Djarfskald asked, baffled by the man's request.

"Yes," Argis replied, "and I wish to fight for my home. For Skyrim."

"I can see if you'd be able to join the ranks but-"

Argis shook his head, "I don't wish to be a Stormcloak if it would put you in danger. All I request is the chance to fight by your side."

* * *

><p>His head felt like it was in a vice and his body on fire. Argis could hear soft shushing as he stirred, where ever he was. Opening his eyes he could feel his ears grow warm as he stared into Djarfskald's smiling face. He hoped that she didn't notice he was blushing, embarrassed by being stared at. While the woman had gotten to read him better than most, she was thankfully lacking in reading such an emotion.<p>

"Where am I?"

"In camp," Djarfskald replied. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Argis shifted nervously as he felt the bed dip as Djarfskald sat beside him. He looked away and tried to think past the pain. "The siege. We were separated by a troop of Imperials. I was trying to fight my way towards you, to protect you because. . . because someone was going straight for you."

"You've done your job well, Argis, and there is no way that I can express my thanks."

The animal skin that served as a door to the large tent was pushed aside as a man walked in. Argis barely recognized him without the Stormcloak armor. The man, Ralof, eyed him for a moment before leaning close to Djarfskald to whisper something. He watched his Thane's smile fade into a look of annoyance and felt his stomach tighten when she stood, reveling the bruised and bandaged flesh of her arms. He hadn't truly done his job.

"I want you to rest," Djarfskald explained the moment she noticed Argis stirring. "The blow you took for me is deep. I'll let you know if we are to leave." She smiled at the slight scowl on Argis' face but as the pain lanced him once more he fell back onto the bed with a sigh.

Argis closed his eyes as his Thane left with Ralof on her heels, "As you wish, Djarfskald."

"Who is he?"

Djarfskald glanced over her shoulder, eyes meeting the familiar blue of Ralof's. "His name is Argis," she replied. "He is my housecarl from Markarth."

The corners of Ralof's lips twitched slightly but whatever he was thinking was well masked. "Your housecarl. He wanted to protect you while you went into battle?"

"That's what I thought," Djarfskald sighed. "Actually Argis wants to help liberate Skyrim. I suppose he was never able to leave Markarth and its hard to fight the against the Empire and Thalmor while you're in their midst, and just one person."

Ralof nodded slowly, "How was he in battle?"

Djarfskald smiled, "I'm alive, aren't I? That blow probably would have killed me. Luckily Argis wears heavier armor than I do." She weaved through the camp, the cheers of victory still ringing as the Stormcloaks feasted on meats and mead. Her brothers and sisters in arms called for the two to join them in the festivities. Ralof couldn't turn down the offer and as tempting as it was there was something more pressing at hand.

Light spilled from the tent Galmar stood in. His eyes were trained on the map of Skyrim and his hands busy marking the newly gained territory. "Is something wrong, Dragonborn," he asked without looking up.

"I was told that Ulfric has requested my presence in Windhelm. When was he expecting me?"

Galmar gave a chuckle, "You'll be leaving at sun up."

Djarfskald pursed her lips, "My housecarl needs time to heal, as do I."

"Your companion can stay with the troops while he heals. He's not the one being summoned," Galmar replied finally looking up. "The wounds you have won't hinder your ability to ride. You're leaving this camp by sunrise and I will make that an order if I must."

"I am not that man's dog!"

"Need I remind you that if it wasn't for Ulfric you wouldn't be here right now? His orders for you are specific and he expects you to follow them."

Frowning Djarfskald exited the tent without another word. Her trek back to her own tent went unnoticed by those caught up in the merrymaking, which made that walk easier. Argis struggled to sit upright when she entered, trying his best to keep the proper appearances. All of it seemed dashed to the wayside as Djarfskald on the bed with a huff.

Argis winced as he settled back against the pillows, "Is something troubling you?"

Djarfskald chewed on her lip, "Do you think you can ride a horse without pain?"

"Not for another day or two," Argis replied. "May I ask why?"

"Do you think you can last for an hour or two before being placed in a carriage," Djarfskald continued, ignoring the man's question.

"I can if I must."

"Good."

"What's happening?"

"I was told I was to leave camp by morning," Djarfskald snarled, "and by the Nine I will be gone."


	16. Warm Winter

**Author's Note**: While the story is rated M I thought I'd give the warning any way: Mature stuff ahead. :o Sorry that it took me a while to post but my muse is flighty and, well, I am nervous about my ability to write this stuff to a degree that it's enjoyable without seeming bad. Enjoy! :D

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><p>Looking back on it, the trek to High Hrothgar had been a risky one; more so with Argis in need of proper rest. Djarfskald gave the Nord the option of staying in Ivarstead until he felt more like himself but he refused. The only way she would allow it, though, was if he went via horse. Argis was a large man and if he needed to be carried any part of the way there was little she could do for him.<p>

The stitching had broken open halfway up the mountain which made Djarfskald force the horse to move quicker. Argis had huddled beneath his cloak but the cold of the snow was getting to him and the bleeding seemed to only get worse. It was starting to seem like she had made the wrong choice.

In the end luck was on Djarfskald's side. The Greybeards were more than happy to take them in and there were a few amongst them that were versed in healing. Argis was given a bed amongst the silent men so they could watch him and tend to his wounds. Being the only woman amongst them the Greybeards saw to it that Djarfskald was given a private room, one they tended to quickly and soon had a fire chasing away the cold.

The days amongst the Greybeards had blurred together. Argis was healing nicely and he soon felt out of place in such a peaceful place. He took to reading what books he could find when he was not wandering the halls or testing himself with his weapons. Djarfskald found herself following Arngeir, listening to his words of wisdom and joining him in his training and meditation. He seemed pleased with her interest in their ways, explaining and answering questions as best he could.

What Djarfskald hadn't expected was the pain. Not from her wounds but from the very core of her being. When she joined Arngeir in the courtyard, mimicking the man as he shouted to the sky, there was a searing pain within her body. The more she shouted, the stronger it seemed to grow.

"It is only natural," Arngeir had explained. "As a child when you yelled and cried out for too long, whether in fun or in fear, your voice would grow weak and your throat sore; the pain is your body's response to the Thu'um."

"Why didn't I feel it until now?"

"You used The Voice in battle, correct? The heat of battle dulled that pain and when all is quiet there was no reason for your body to remember."

"Is this why the others don't talk?"

"Perhaps."

"Do you have this pain?"

"Yes, Dragonborn, and it is a pain I proudly bear."

There was a storm brewing outside those chilled walls. Any hope of spending time in a sun washed courtyard was dashed. Djarfskald sat before the fire in her temporary chambers and tried to keep her mind occupied, fingers twining around the frayed edges of her skirt. '_Perhaps was should leave_,' she thought. _'Argis should be well enough and might be happy to get out once more._' Those lazy thoughts were interrupted by the echoing knock at her door.

"It's open." Djarfskald glanced up, surprised to Arngeir standing in the door way. She pushed herself to her feet and smiled. "Is there something I can do for you?"

Arngeir shook his head, "There is someone requesting your presence, Dragonborn."

Narrowing her eyes, Djarfskald left the room the moment Arngeir stepped aside. This was impossible. No one knew where she had gone. There were many cities and small towns to search before turning to High Hrothgar. Her absence in the world shouldn't have been noticed. She should have grabbed a weapon, something simple if the need to defend herself arose. Here, though, the use of the Voice would suffice.

Djarfskald froze and felt her heart begin to race. Ralof stood in the entry room, cloak covered in snow and eyes scanning the area with his sword in hand. He stopped in his slow inspection of the room when saw her standing at the stairs. While it may have been only days since they last saw each other, it felt like a lifetime since they were able to embrace.

The sound of the sword clattering against the stone floor fell on deaf ears as Djarfskald rushed into Ralof's arms. She kissed him deeply, pressing herself against him. She ignored the chill of his armor and the icy touch of his hands as they found bare flesh. He held her close, almost to the point of dull pain, but as their heated embrace continued it was easily ignored.

"You are a difficult woman to track down."

The lovers pulled away from each other, Ralof quickly retrieving his sword and Djarfskald's eyes trained on the doorway. "Ulfric," she breathed. "How did you know where to find me?"

Slowly the Jarl moved forward, away from the closing door and the two Stormcloaks who barred it. "Galmar told me you didn't head in the direction of Markarth and that woman, Lydia, in your home in Whiterun says she hasn't seen you in weeks."

"I've been following your orders," Djarfskald replied.

A wry smile passed over Ulfric's face as he strolled deeper into the building, snow falling from his furred cloak. "Then why did you run away to this mountaintop?"

Djarfskald held Ulfric's steely gaze with one of her own. "My housecarl, Argis, needed to heal, as did I. I also wanted time away from the fighting; time to put everything in perspective."

"Are you implying that you wish to end your alignment with us?" There was anger in that question but there was also a hint of fear that Djarfskald hadn't expected. It didn't show in Ulfric's face nor his eyes, but she knew what she heard. She meant more to this war than she thought.

"No."

Ulfric glanced at Ralof before turning his attention back to Djarfskald. "Why did you risk your housecarl's wellbeing by dragging him up here? Were you that desperate to runaway?"

Djarfskald frowned, "Argis made that choice himself. I would have preferred if he stayed in Ivarstead but he would have nothing to do with it."

"Than why did you come here?" Ulfric's voice echoed in the hall, his annoyance now apparent. With or without the Thu'um the man's thundering voice was enough to make Djarfskald cower for a moment. It was the first time she truly noticed how imposing Ulfric was.

"To escape your grip on my life and live," Djarfskald thundered.

Rage boiled in the both of them. Ulfric rushed Djarfskald, hand up and ready to strike. She prepared herself as arcs of electricity danced around her fingers. Ralof didn't move and neither did the unnamed Stormcloaks that still stood in the shadows. Even if they did try to interfere there was no telling what good it would do.

"Ulfric."

Djarfskald recognized that calm voice and it seemed like the Jarl recognized it as well. The fury that had been between them seemed to vanish as both turned to Arngeir. The Greybeard was flanked by his silent comrades as well as Argis. The one eyed Nord seemed at odds with himself. While he obviously wanted to defend Djarfskald it was Ulfric Stormcloak who would have been on the other end of that battle.

"Arngeir," Ulfric said, a smile slowly forming. "I am glad to see you're still alive."

"It has been many years since we've seen you, Ulfric." A smile soon appeared on Arngeir's face as he held out his hands to Ulfric. "Come, why don't you and your men warm yourselves. You and Djarfskald can continue your discussion when you both have calmed your tempers."

Ulfric nodded, motioning to his men to follow as he trailed behind Arngeir. Djarfskald didn't move but motioned Argis to follow the man. She waited, eyes held steady on the group until she caught the barest hint of movement from the corner of her eye. Ralof moved to follow the Jarl but stopped when Djarfskald took hold of his hand.

"Come with me."

Ralof glanced at Djarfskald, "But the others-"

"I have a fire in my chambers if you wish to warm yourself," Djarfskald replied. "I just want some time with you before Ulfric decides to take my head."

Ralof couldn't help but chuckle at Djarfskald's comment and let himself be pulled away from his intended path. She said nothing to him as they walked. He could feel her hand tighten around his as they drew near an open door. It was as if she was afraid the moment she let go Ralof would leave.

The small room was warm despite the stone work and large windows that showed the snow storm whipping around the building. Books and scrolls were splayed out on an old rug that faced the fire. Armor lay tossed at the bedside as did Djarfskald's own travel pack. She closed the door behind them and moved towards the rug.

"Take your cloak off," Djarfskald said as she tidied up the books. "You can warm yourself by the fire while it dries."

"What have you been doing here?"

"Learning the Way of the Voice."

"Does that mean you'll be staying here?"

Djarfskald smiled softly and stood, books in her arms, "No. I don't think I can live here for the rest of my life. That and I have a commitment to this war and. . ." Her voice trailed off as she felt hands on her shoulders which slowly trailed down her back before resting on her hips. "And you."

The books tumbled to the floor in a heap as Djarfskald felt Ralof nuzzled her neck, lips grazing her skin. She turned a pressed her lips against his. She could feel Ralof's arm encircle her waist to bring their bodies closer while his other hand rested on the nape of her neck, dissuading her from moving away. She twined her fingers through his damp hair, welcoming his tongue as the kiss deepened.

There were no words between them as Ralof lifted Djarfskald from the floor with ease. In one swift motion she wrapped her legs around the man's waist as he maneuvered blindly towards the bed. Djarfskald released her hold on Ralof the moment the man stopped, trusting that he had found the bed. She looked up at the Nord with a smile as she nestled against the furs that kept her warm through the nights.

Ralof shrugged off his cloak before he crawled over her. "Tell me you want this."

"You know I do," Djarfskald murmured, hands reaching for him. He kissed her deeply as she went to work relieving him of his armor. It was moments like these that Djarfskald was glad she wore armor herself. Those buckles were easy to find and work free, the armor and clothing beneath it easier to push away.

Djarfskald's fingers found naked flesh and trailed over the result of years of work. The muscles beneath her touch tensed as Ralof took in a heavy breath, his own fingers working beneath the clothing that bound his companion. Djarfskald arched her back as those fingers pulled away her clothes. Ralof broke their kiss only to press his lips against the bare skin of her stomach. She smiled and sighed at the touch, fingers raking slowly up the man's back.

Ralof pressed his lips against Djarfskald's once more, this time with a forceful hunger that caused her to moan. He slipped his tongue into her open mouth and seemed to drink in the moans that he brought forth. Ralof trailed his kisses away from her mouth, smiling at the whispered curses and the sensation of Djarfskald pushing her body against his own. He kissed her neck, tongue and teeth grazing the sensitive skin that made her fill the air with pleasure filled cries. There was no doubt; she wanted this just as much as he did and it starting to become obvious that the woman was losing her patience.

Biting her lip Djarfskald, let her head fall back against the pillows as her skirt was slowly gathered at her waist. Ralof shifted over her, positioning himself without a word. She arched her back and let out a moan as he began to fill her. It was slow, almost painfully so as her body seemed to ache for him. Ralof whispered something but those words were lost in the mingle of Djarfskald's moan as he pulled out.

It was a slow rhythm that two fell into. Ralof curled over Djarfskald, her legs over his hips and tensing with every movement. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled herself up, Ralof adjusting their position so he sat with her atop him. Djarfskald rocked her body in time with his slow thrusts, burying her face against his neck in attempt to muffle her cries. One hand held her while the other dipped between their bodies, fingers finding that sensitive spot to stroke slowly.

She could feel herself tightening but it seemed too soon. Djarfskald let out a startled gasp as Ralof pulled her face away from his neck. She locked eyes with him, loosing herself in those blue orbs. The rhythm changed as Ralof crushed his lips against hers. She felt her body tense around Ralof as she climaxed, moaning into the man's mouth as he held her tightly. He echoed her, fingers at her hips tightening as she rolled them slowly, still riding her euphoric high.

Djarfskald rested against Ralof's chest, half aware that he fell backwards against the bed with their bodies still entwined. She smiled against him. The sound of his breathing was soothing as was the feeling of his arm draped over her.

"Do you think they'll notice I'm not with them," Ralof murmured.

"I haven't a clue, "Djarfskald smiled, her voice low. "But let's see if they dare enter this room without consent."


	17. Blood is Thicker

"Solitude?" The word caused Djarfskald's stomach to tighten into a knot. Ulfric didn't notice the slight quirk in her brow as she said the word and she was thankful. "Why there?" She knew the answer but she wanted to hear it.

The Jarl looked up from the book he had been reading. It was a strange moment but, then again, this had been a strange meeting. Ulfric was away from court, from the war, and from any of his officials. No longer was he the man who killed the High King or the warrior who fought against the Empire. He was nothing more than a man, weary and aged due to worry.

"I want to make my final stand, Dragonborn," Ulfric explained. "I need you to tell me how they've changed since I fled that city. Are their weaknesses the same, do we have allies lying in wait, and are their numbers greater than I suspect."

Djarfskald nodded, "I'll do so without pause if you can promise me something."

"And what is that?"

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><p>There was a reason why Djarfskald was nervous about returning to Solitude; she had murdered the Emperor's cousin at her own wedding. She had managed to escape but had been spotted during the whole ordeal. Whether or not the guards had a good look at her was debatable. She had worn the cloth of the Brotherhood but it didn't exempt her from being seen. Either way she had to take precautions.<p>

Djarfskald entered the city in simple clothes. No jewels or bracelets, and leaving her horse behind. Her hair had been colored a deep red, nearing a shade of black and easy to accomplish with her brown hair. She carried with her a bag which someone would look at and figure she was nothing more than a traveler. Inside lay her gold and a few daggers, as well as a change of clothes and the garb of the Brotherhood. Returning to the city was serving two purposes now: Ulfric's needs and a contract given to her by Nazir.

The city was full of life. It was different than Djarfskald's last visit, even with the wedding happening. Vendors were hawking their wares while children ran through the streets in a game of tag. Music from various bards wafted through the air much like the scent of freshly cooked foods. This was how the city looked in her mind as a child.

"Momma, can we go watch the clown again?"

"Really, Anders, you've watched that jester for half the morning."

"But momma!"

Djarfskald smiled to herself as she snaked through the crowd, her fingers itching to grab at the woman's purse as she followed the duo. She fought the urge; she wasn't a thief, not anymore. What she did earned her money even if it wasn't much better. The small boy and his mother pushed past her, just out of the woman's reach as he darted towards a clearing. Despite herself Djarfskald followed the boy's trek with her eyes, coming to a sudden stop in the crowd.

Standing in the middle of a small clearing, one which hugged the wall between two stalls, was Cicero. He was no longer wearing the jester clothes Djarfskald knew, the one that had been torn and bloodied. The man was dressed in fresh clothes, auburn hair pulled back and free of a cap. He juggled for the crowd, performed a few sleight of hand tricks, and even sang a song that the kids giggled at. The man was in an element that Djarfskald hadn't expected. Cicero had dressed the part, even danced on occasion, but she hadn't realized how deep his last hit had buried itself.

Applause carried over the spectators and coins were tossed into a small box. The children laughed and waved at Cicero and all he could do was smile in return. He scooped up his box and looked at his earnings, only now noticing the strange feeling of being watched. Those earthy orbs fell onto those bright green eyes that Cicero had all but forgotten. Shock and a hint of fear flashed across his face but a smile replaced it.

Djarfskald turned away and pushed through the crowd, heading towards the nearest alleyway in hopes of disappearing. She had watched for too long. There was nothing she could do about his appearance, though she thanked the Nine that she had been the one to accept the contract. If anyone else in the Brotherhood had arrived to find Cicero the Imperial would have been dead on the spot; than they would have come for her.

"Listener." That word seemed to slither through the shadows of the alley. Djarfskald stopped and stared at the ground, her shadow over shown by that of another. That shadow moved slowly. He was cautious and rightly so; he had to choose his actions wisely. "Li-. . . Djarfskald, Cicero is happy, truly happy to see you."

"I am happy to hear you call me by name but thought I told you to leave Skyrim, Cicero."

"You did and I am planning on leaving. Leaving by boat, actually, but poor Cicero needs money. There never seems to be enough for food and a room."

"So you've decided to perform for people," Djarfskald asked, slowly turning towards the man.

Cicero held the box tightly, eyes fixed on Djarfskald as he gave a curt nod. "They give Cicero a meager amount in exchange for laughter. In groups they give more. Soon Cicero should have enough to leave, just like you said."

"Good." Djarfskald turned sharply with the intention of leaving but stopped as Cicero seized her by the arm.

"Why are you here?" The tone of Cicero's voice was different, as if it was another person speaking altogether.

Djarfskald wrenched her arm away and turned to the jester. She made to punch him. It was a lazy throw, one that Cicero easily dodged and for good reason. As her arm flexed a small dagger jutted out from beneath the sleeve of her loose shirt. The man's demeanor changed as he stared at the short blade, eyes narrowed and filling with an emotion that she had never seen in him before. "I'm here on business," Djarfskald replied. She pulled down her sleeve, once more setting the blade in its rightful position. "Not you, if that's what you're worried about."

Cicero's body lost its tension and that shadowed look in his eyes seemed to pass. "Is there any way Cicero can help?"

"Possibly," Djarfskald mused. She hadn't expected such festivities to be taking place. Actually performing the assassination would prove to be a little more difficult. "What is it that you want?"

"Half of your pay."

"What?"

"Do you want me out of Skyrim, Listener? That should help me along."

Djarfskald frowned but gave a slow nod, motioning for Cicero to follow. In all honesty she didn't need the money. It was just there for comfort. If a portion of it went to securing someone's safety, more so someone she cared for, all the better.

The plan was simple enough. A cheating man was to be murdered and his body left for the mistress to find at their special meeting place. With so many people around, though, it would be hard for the moment to be intimate. Cicero was to be there to draw attention and possibly making the kill that much easier. All Djarfskald would have to do was drag the body to the spot and wait. If the woman made a run for it, than she would meet her own untimely end.

As Cicero set up Djarfskald dipped behind one of the many tightly packed houses, cloaking herself in the shadows as she redressed. She stripped off her civilian clothes and quickly replaced them with the mantle of the Brotherhood. The sound of laughter and applause was growing. Cicero was already doing his part, she just needed to do hers.

Securing the cowl Djarfskald slunk towards the edge of the building an peered out. All eyes were on Cicero as he began to juggle. She watched him for a moment, surprised to see the flash of blades as they sailed through the air. '_This is new_,' she thought before turning her attention to the faces. Her mind went over the man's description, eyes narrowing as she studied every face.

Then she saw him. A Breton with amber eyes and a scar that ran from his left ear to the curve of his mouth. He was standing beside the crowd, pausing to see what was happening even though he knew he had to move. Djarfskald crept along the unknowing crowd with her eyes locked onto the man. She was nothing but the shadow of flag in the wind or perhaps the shifting touch of a stranger. All of this was second nature and she went unseen with ease.

The man led Djarfskald down an ally that opened up into a private garden. This was the spot. Whether or not the garden belonged to either party was none of her business. The guards would have to deal with the owner and wonder why a man lay dead beside their flowers.

It was the sound of the gate closing behind her that caused the man to turn around. Confusion crossed his face as he stared at Djarfskald, watching as she rose to her full height clothed in shades of black and blood.

"M-may I help you?" His voice was trembling but his outward composure hid his nerves.

Djarfskald produced a small scarf and gently tossed it at the man, "We've been looking for you."

Those amber eyes widened slightly as he stared at the article of clothing as it hit the ground. He backed away from it as if it was alive. "She knows? How?"

"We don't care about the how," Djarfskald replied, strolling forwards. "We just care about the contract."

"C-contract," he croaked. "You can't be serious. She would never-"

The sentence was cut short as Djarfskald's hidden blade slipped into the man's stomach with ease. She twisted her hand, pulling it back as she watched the man grope at the wound. His eyes filled with bewilderment as he felt the warmth of his own blood. Her smile was hidden beneath the cowl and she grabbed the man by the throat, sinking the blade into him once more. Blood fell from his lips as he coughed and fell to the ground as Djarfskald released him.

"Alodie?"

Djarfskald went rigid and spun around. A dark haired woman stood at the gate, her face growing pale as she surveyed the scene. The moment of realization seemed to take an eternity to wash over the woman's face. It gave Djarfskald ample time to recognize her features.

The woman's scream ripped through the air as she turned and franticly pulled open the gate. Djarfskald surged forward with her bladed hand at the ready. Her instincts were to kill the woman, but she found herself hesitating. The scream was suddenly silenced as the woman dropped to the ground in a heap, a dagger buried into her shoulder.

"Damnit!" Djarfskald snarled, ripping away her cowl. She stood over the woman, nudging the motionless body with her boot. There was no mistaking that face.

"Are you okay, Djarfskald?"

Djarfskald glanced up and watched as Cicero seemed to appear from the shadows. There was little doubt that he still had a firm grasp on their teachings. "I'm fine, Cicero," she replied, "thank you. Did you kill her?"

Cicero shook his head. "She is very much alive. Cicero knows a few things about the bodies of man and mer. Where to stab, where to slice. I can keep them alive for days."

"Why isn't she responding?"

"A concoction I've made," Cicero smiled, producing a smile vile of blue liquid. "Puts you into a deep sleep but you still feel pain. Makes for a wonderful night."

Djarfskald frowned, "We need to get her to the inn."

"Why do you have so much concern over her?"

"She's my sister."

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: Apologies for my lack of updates. This story is still alive, life just decided to kick me in the butt. :P Hope you enjoyed this! Questions and comments are most welcomed, and I will answer anything to the best of my abilities.


	18. A Life for a Life

Djarfskald slumped over the table, chin resting on the worn wood as she stared blankly across the common room of the Winking Skeever. With Cicero's help she had spirited her sister away before the guards managed to track down the ruckus. It was easy enough to get a room with claims that she drank too much and needed a place to sleep it off. What Djarfskald hadn't expected was that the man behind the counter would recognize her sister and said he'd have someone run to fetch her parents.

"Cicero didn't know you had a sister," the jester mused. He placed a tankard of mead before Djarfskald before taking a seat beside her. He had his own drink in hand and even though he raised it, it didn't seem like he drank. Cicero had surprised Djarfskald when they put her sister onto the bed. Without being prompted he tended to the wound, stopping when it was properly dressed. The 'thank you' he received seemed to invigorate him and the smile that had flashed across his face seemed genuine.

"A brother too," Djarfskald murmured. She eyed the mead but decided against drowning her feelings. Months before she had been so excited about reconnecting with her family only to find them long gone. She knew they were in Solitude. She knew it before she entered the city walls, but facing her own sister had brought it all in perspective. Her family was so close and all she could think of was hiding.

"What will you do now?"

Djarfskald sat back in the chair and trailed her fingers around the mouth of the tankard. "I did Mother's bidding but I have other work in the city." She noticed Cicero's mouth twitch at the mention of the Night Mother. Even beneath the gloves she could tell he was gripping the tankard will all of his strength. "She watches over you, Cicero. She wants you to be safe."

The jester didn't reply, his face as neutral as before. It was his turn to drown his sorrows in honey wine, downing the tankard with surprising ease. Djarfskald thought about stopping him there but let Cicero wander to the bar to request another drink. She would stay with him until he slept off the effects. It was the least she could do.

Without a word Cicero went to the bar with his tankard in hand. Djarfskald didn't have to hear him to know what he was demanding. She looked back at her own ale and, with a heavy sigh, took a long, slow drink. It hit her stomach like a ball of fire. This wasn't ordinary mead.

"Fraki, where is she? Tell me she's okay."

Djarfskald sputtered as she heard the voice, shrinking slightly in her chair. Her mother rushed towards the bar in a flurry of skirts and braided red hair. It was obvious to anyone that she had been crying, her eyes red and puffy. It was her father that had always had a cool head and obviously still did. He stood beside his wife, hands and boots still dirty from the work he had been doing. His skin was darker, no doubt from the sun, and he had grown out his beard and hair, both now showing white strands of age.

"The girl is fine," the bartender replied. "Put up in one of the rooms for a bit."

"By who?"

The bartender went rigid, his eyes flicking towards Djarfskald. She met his gaze with one that could chill blood. The man knew the risk, she had told him as such, and with Cicero so close there was little doubt that it would be swift. The jester's empty hand, unseen by the three around him, was trailing down the hilt of one of his many daggers. He was ready.

"I didn't catch a name. I was just told she'd be tended to. I'll take you to her."

Djarfskald waited until the trio disappeared before standing and hurrying towards the door. She could feel Cicero shadowing her, weaving with her through the street as she went to retrieve her items from the small niche in a nearby stone wall. The long shadows of the afternoon gave greater cover as Djarfskald pulled away the crumbling stone and pulled out her pack and gear. Cicero stood watch, leaning against the corner with dark eyes.

"You're leaving now," Cicero asked in a low voice barely heard.

"After nightfall, yes." Djarfskald replaced the stone and slung her pack over her shoulder with a slight frown. "I have a few things I want to see before I leave."

Those thin eyebrows knit over dark eyes before Cicero looked out across the shifting crowd of people. "Can Cicero join you?"

"I don't see why not." Djarfskald suppressed a smile, keeping her face solemn. She wanted the company more so now than before. As mad as the jester might be, it was the familiarity that she needed. "I want to see the palace, can you show it to me?"

A bright smile flashed over Cicero's face as he pushed forward, humming to himself at the sudden change of his mood. Djarfskald mirrored the smile behind the jester's back as she fell into step. It would have been reasonable for the crowd to lessen the further away from the main square the wandered, but that didn't seem the case. She kept her eyes on Cicero, trying her best to keep up through the throng, but soon she lost the auburn haired man and even her voice didn't seem to catch his attention.

_'Mother_,' Djarfskald thought, '_where did he go_?' It was astray thought, one of the many she found herself with at the strangest moments. And like all of those other moments a soft voice replied.

'_My Keeper is safe for now_,' the whisper came. '_You have your own troubles to worry over_.'

Djarfskald pursed her lips at those words; they made little sense. The hit was taken care of and she was doing as Ulfric had commanded. What worries was the Night Mother speaking of?

A strong hand came down on Djarfskald's shoulder, pulling her to the side of the busy thoroughfare. Rather than cry out she whipped around, pulling away with an anger that could have stopped a charging mammoth in its tracks. The anger melted away instantly to a look of shock.

"Father," Djarfskald squeaked, "how-"

"Did you think I wouldn't notice my own daughter?" Aldormi smiled softly, his dull green eyes a near mirror to that of his daughter's, "You don't seem too surprised to see me in Solitude."

Djarfskald glanced over her shoulder; Cicero was nowhere to be seen. "I returned to Whiterun only to find that the farm was sold. I spoke with some old friends who explained things to me."

Aldormi snorted, "And you didn't try to find us when you arrived?"

"I didn't know if you'd want to see me. I have been gone for years, without word. . . ."

"I did the same when I was your age, Djarfskald. You know that I understand."

"My apologies, father." Throwing her doubts aside Djarfskald threw her arms around her father, holding him as tight as she had when she was a child.

Aldormi smiled, pressing his lips against her forehead. "What brought you back to Whiterun?"

"A rude awakening of sorts." Djarfskald looked into those muted eyes, "I've joined the Stormcloaks, father."

"That's something you shouldn't announce so proudly here," Aldormi replied in a low voice. "Is there something I should worry about?"

Djarfskald chewed on her lower lip. She couldn't lie to her father, not now. "I am a scout. A final stand is on the horizon."

Aldormi nodded slowly, a grave look on his face. "Here I thought I managed to save your mother and sister from battles by moving here."

"The Stormcloaks can promise you safety, father. I can give you instructions on where to find them and what needs to be done."

"You have always been so resourceful. How did you manage this?"

"Ulfric Stormcloak gave me his word that no harm would befall any of you, forfeiting his life in exchange for any of yours."


	19. A Rat

Djarfskald couldn't figure out how she was talked into such a predicament. _'No_,' she thought, '_I know exactly how this happened. Damn Delphine and my incessant need to help people_.' A slight frown tugged at her lips as she stood nervously by the bar in the Thalmor Embassy. She was uneasy to say the least, not only being surrounded by the enemy but by the clothes she wore. Delphine had wonderful taste but what she wouldn't give to be in her armor.

"Try not to look so nervous," Malborn, the Bosmer behind the bar, said softly. Djarfskald noted that he should do the same; he was supposed to help her. Malborn gave a curt nod. "I could make you a drink if that will calm you. We have some nice mead from-"

"I'd rather not," Djarfskald hissed. Pushing herself off the bar and holding her head high she decided to mingle. That would be the only way for her figure out how to cause a distraction. With her mind going to work and eyes scanning the crowd it took Djarfskald to notice the familiar face. She whipped around, hurrying back to the bar the moment those amber eyes glistened with recognition. "I think I'll take that drink, NOW."

Malborn's eyes grew wide as he looked past Djarfskald, no doubt seeing the person she had made eye contact with. "R-right away."

In the back of her mind Djarfskald cursed the Bosmer for not moving faster. She didn't know what to do. Walk away and avoid the man? Act like they never met? The tankard was finally placed before and the moment Djarfskald touched it she felt a hand fall on her shoulder.

"It's been some time since we've seen each other, Thane."

Before she turned around Djarfskald took a long swig of the mead. Leaning against the bar she looked up at those amber eyes and smiled. "Ondolemar, what a pleasant surprise. And, please, the title is no longer needed."

Ondolemar snorted, "Why is that?"

"What, with the Stormcloaks overrunning Markarth and all," Djarfskald chuckled, praying that the Altmer was buying her story.

"My apologies but I was under the impression that you were a sympathizer."

"Looks can be deceiving," she replied with a wink. The gesture seemed to stun Ondolemar, breaking through the man's poise. Djarfskald smiled into her drink as she watched him take a sip of his own. "Though I should be the one apologizing. Most gatherings I've attended have been thrown by my countrymen, so it's a little more boisterous than this."

Ondolemar gave the barest hint of a smile, "Of that I have little doubt."

Djarfskald froze as Ondolemar reached towards her. His fingers went straight for the chain around her neck. Steeling herself, she looked at the elf and let a slow smile crawl across her lips as he pulled the amulet free. There was a slight change in Ondolemar's complexion and all Djarfskald could figure was that the man was blushing.

"Wasn't what you were expecting?"

"I suppose not," Ondolemar replied, his gloved hand still holding the Amulet of Dibella. "Am I to assume-"

Holding a finger to her lips Djarfskald moved away just enough to pull the amulet out of Ondolemar's hand. "That's a secret."

Ondolemar's eyebrows twitched slightly as he took another drink from his cup, "Your people never cease to amaze me."

"Tell me," Djarfskald said in a low voice, "what can one do for fun at a party like this? No offense to anyone, but this place seems a little stuffy."

"I'm not too sure I follow."

"Drinking is all fun and good, but if I wanted to sit around and chat I would have found an inn and done so."

Glancing over his shoulder Ondolemar gave the shadow of a smile as he drank the last of his drink. "Perhaps I can find something to entertain you."

Djarfskald watched the elf put his cup down and wander into the group of people. He singled out a man, obviously drunk, and began to make outrageous accusations. She frowned at the sight. If it wasn't for her mission she would have put a dagger through the elf's back in an instant.

"C'mon!"

That hissed word brought Djarfskald's thoughts back to the present. Downing the last of her mead, she dashed behind the counter and followed Malborn through a door. The two hurried through the building's kitchen without as much of a glance at the cook nor her annoyed cries. He took Djarfskald by the hand, something that caused a jolt of fear to strike her, and lead her through one last door.

The Bosmer closed the door behind them, pushing past Djarfskald as he reached for a chest. Throwing it open he began to pull out the equipment that she had given him days earlier. "I was beginning to get worried about hiding these things here, but they're safe," Malborn muttered.

"Thank you!" Djarfskald didn't think twice about pulling off her clothes, hastily working at her shoes and the ties of her dress. Malborn flushed slightly and turned around, clearing his throat nervously. "Sorry," she mused, "but I can't really wait for a private room, can I?"

"A warning would have been nice."

Djarfskald knew the buckles and belts of the Brotherhood's leathers like they were part of her. It took little time for her to slip everything on, adjusting them just so that they would fit snuggly against her. Slipping the hood over her hair Djarfskald let out a sigh, speaking before pulling up her cowl, "Now how am I to get out of here?"

Malborn turned around and froze for a moment with eyes wide, "You're-"

"Hush," Djarfskald hissed, voice muffled through the fabric. "There is no time to wonder what I am or what I am not. The longer you drag this on the more likely you'll get caught!"

"R-right," Malborn stammered. He brushed past her and opened an adjoining door. "Through here. You should be able to find your way about."

Djarfskald stood in the doorway for a moment and looked at Malborn, smiling beneath her cowl, "Calm your nerves. Everything will be fine. "

* * *

><p>'<em>Direct contact remains a possibility<em>. . .'

Those words echoed in Djarfskald's mind as her fingers trailed over them. She shook her head, rereading the dossier for the fifth time. Djarfskald was hunched in a darkened corner somewhere on the property of the embassy. Time had become lost when she stumbled across Ulfric's name scrawled across the file and curiosity won out.

'_. . . was assigned as an asset to the interrogator, who is now First Emissary Elenwen._'

"You son of a bitch," Djarfskald murmured, shutting her eyes against her own growing anger. With a shuddering breath she opened her satchel and shoved the dossier into the deepest recesses it held. "We will have words," she hissed, wiping away the forming tears with the back of her hand. It wasn't until that moment that Djarfskald realized the sound of the two chatting Altmer had long disappeared. In their places was low, pained sobs followed by the sound of jostling metal.

Djarfskald followed the sound, creeping down a flight of stairs and clinging to as much of the shadows as she could. A room filled with barred cells opened before the Nord, all but one closed. Her heart raced as she crept towards the sobs. There was no place to hide, no shadow for cover. Luckily, though, those sobs were the only sounds echoing through the room.

A man sat, chained to the wall with arms pulled over his head. He had been beaten, multiple times no doubt, and his body was colored with an array of bruises and wounds. His body shook with his soft sobs as he pulled at the manacles binding him with great force. Raising his face to cry out he noticed Djarfskald before him and he froze. His tear stained face contorted into a new look of fear.

"The Thalmor are in league with the Dark Brotherhood?" The man's voice was raspy and his teeth were stained with blood. He pushed himself into the wall looking away with a sad resignation. "So it's come to this. . ."

Djarfskald felt her heart ache at the sight and quickly produced the tools she needed to free the man. "I'm not here to kill you," she whispered, standing over him, "and I'm certainly not working for those damned elves." His eyes snapped up as he felt Djarfskald working on his binds. In a matter of seconds his arms feel free and the sensation brought on a new sense of pain. "We need to get out of here, now."

The man rubbed his arms, trying to regain feeling in them as he slowly stood, "Thank you. . ."

"You may call me Snow-Hammer. You?"

"Etienne." There was recognition in his eyes when he had heard Djarfskald's title. "I've heard of you. You're a Stormcloak. . ."

"As much as I'd to chat, Etienne, we need to move. This whole mission of mine is a damned failure."

"You weren't sent to free me?"

"How long have you been here?"

Etienne shrugged, "I'm not too sure anymore. The Thalmor tortured me whenever they had a moment."

"Why were you here?"

"They wanted information on a man and thought I knew him."

"Stick beside me and tell me what those bastards were trying to find out."


End file.
